Nick Wears it in Switzerland

Switzerland started out rough for us. We had taken an overnight train here from Barcelona and made one key mistake…we decided not to get a cama (bed) for the train because it was going to cost us an extra 30 Euros. We assumed we could force ourselves to sleep by not siesta'ing in Barcelona and then popping a sleeping pill on the train…good theory, bad plan. I could hardly sleep at all, even after 3 sleeping pills and a bottle of wine, Nick on the other hand was passed out for the majority of the 11 hour train ride, but still felt tired the following morning when we arrived in Bern, Switzerland.

After arriving to Bern, we quickly hopped on the next train to Interlaken and soon found out we were far from Spain. As the train proceeded down the tracks, the windows lit up with the glow of snowy mountains and colorful trees, completely foreign to us Floridians. When we got off the train in Interlaken, we made a short hike to a hostel recommended to us by Kevin Patterson named "Balmer's." As we walked up we noticed an underground club, a recreation room (ping pong, billiards, football, the whole 9), and a hot tub all on the premises. We were sold. This hostel stole the title of "best hostel on the trip" from the one we had the first night in Madrid. Along with the amenities listed above, we had our own room with a skylight showcasing the Swiss Alps, free wi-fi, free use of the gameroom, free electric plug converter, and free use of all above amenities.

The first day we decided to explore the city by foot as opposed to renting a bike or "scooter car" (basically a convertible Smart Car). We made a short hike up a mountain and saw a ram farm….really, a farm where the only animals were rams. The town as a whole wasn't a lot different. Our best guess as to the way of life was that many people were wealthy but also many people made their living from farming.

For lunch we stopped at a place called "Des Alpes." The Swiss receptionist at Balmer's said it was her favorite restaurant and that it was authentic Swiss cuisine. She also made a point to tell us to order the Roshti, her favorite dish. When it came to the table we were in fat kid heaven. On a giant skillet was a bed of hash browns, fried onions, cubes of baked bacon, thick slices of ham, melted swiss cheese, and a fried egg to top it all off. The presentation was flawless, it was definitely a sight to see as well as a delight to eat. Afterwards we were completely stuffed and could hardly even think about eating again all day. But then the restaurant hit us with a curve ball; a separate bar that served only Swiss chocolate deserts. We sat down for a chocolate cocktail that did not disappoint. Now….completely stuffed to the brim with food, we decided a walk was in order so we walked the mile and a half back to our hostel for some down time before the night's festivities.

After skyping with the family and doing 1.5 loads (notice the 1.5) of laundry, it was time to shower and get ready for happy hour. Note, skipping dinner (lunch was very expensive (28 Francs, or ~$32/each) and waiting to get the last load of clothes out of the drier after happy hour both seemed like good ideas at the time. We showed up about 15 minutes late to happy hour but when we got there we learned that the specials Happy hour were B-O-G-O beers (0.5 liters) and mixed drinks so it didn't take us long to catch up. We mingled with a local bartender and even met someone from Florida that had gone to school with a friend of ours from FSU #smallworld. By the end of happy hour, we were about 4 liters of beer down a piece, and decided to leave the laundry in the dryer until morning #riskydrunkmove.

The second day in Interlaken we had planned to go canyon jumping. Long story short, it was closed (we took pictures of the "Closed" sign for proof). So we decided to then rent a scootercar. That was closed. Then we went back to the hostel to ask around about what to do. There we ended up meeting Eric Balmers, the owner of the hostel and a local celebrity in Switzerland. He was one of the nicest people we've met all trip. He loaded us up with free Toblerone chocolate bars, Balmer's Hostel hats, and an itinerary for the day; take a short train ride to Bern, the capital of Switzerland and take a walk around the city, making sure to see the Corn House. Solid idea, we're in.

Before getting on the train, Nick decides it's finally time he sees a doctor about his leg (long story short, he burned it on a grill at the Bucs tailgate the day before the trip and has been limping all over Europe because of it). We locate a Swiss doctor and luckily he is able to see Nick right away. A glimpse of a side-by-side ankle comparison, a feel of his pelvic lymph nodes, and one blood test later, he finds out the burn has become infected. Doc prescribes some penicillin and we're on our way. He'll live.

I laughed more in the next 15 minutes than I have all trip. We get to the train station and begin trying to find out when the next train leaves to Bern. We quickly give up looking on our own and ask the lady at the information desk for help. "That one" she says, "That one will take you to Bern, but hurry, you have to get on now." We dash out the door and I hop on to the train, Nick following right behind me. "Good thing we asked, huh?" I asked. No response. I turn around and see no one. Six Swiss high schoolers are giggling in front of me pointing back to where I had came from. I walk back to the window and see Nick, standing outside the train, "Wtf?!?" look on his face. I try to pry the door open. Not happening. I try to call for assistance. No one in sight. I look back at the window as the train begins to take off. Nick's eyes say "Wait for me," my shoulder shrug retorts "Meeehhhhh, wear it!" I end up getting off at the next stop and hopping on the next train back to the station in Interlaken where I left Nick and all was resolved in about 25 minutes….but for the first 10 minutes off that train ride, I couldn't help but laugh to myself, thinking about the event that had just taken place. Nick said literally right after I stepped on the train, the door slammed shut. He had thoughts off blocking the door with his arm, even diving with his whole body. But the door was coming in too hot and he didn't want to risk another bodily injury.

Barcelona Day 3 and 4

Day 3 in Barcelona began as a big blur from the long night before. We both woke up disoriented and confused as to what had happened and how we had even gotten back to the hostel. After deciding that a warm meal would be the cure-all we needed, we were off to find tickets for the event we had been looking forward to the entire time we had been here: FC Barcelona (consensus says they’re the best soccer team in the world) v. FC Sevilla. Given my minimal interest in soccer as a whole, what I was most excited about was the stadium: Camp Nou (Google it, you’ll see why). Pre-game preparation for the game included buying two FC Barcelona jerseys (Messi for me, David Villa for Nick) and a bottle of gin (much to Nick’s chagrin). After breezing through the entire bottle, half a bottle of left over Spanish wine, and filling a “halftime flask,” we were ready for the game. After we got to the metro station, we figured out that we while we may not be the only people heading to the game, we were in all likelihood the only ones who decided to get blackout drunk before the game. I imagined walking up to the game would be like walking up to a Bucs game back home, boy was I wrong. On the way in there was no chanting, no trash talking, and quite frankly no talking at all. Everyone had this super serious, super sober look on their faces. It was pretty intimidating actually.

After a short mile hike to the top of the stadium, we landed in our seats ready for the insanity to begin. The view from the top of the stadium was unbelievable. For starters it’s 344 feet long and 223 feet high with a seating capacity of 98,700+, making it the 11^th largest stadium in the world. The top level and the bottom level is covered with red seats, white the middle level is mainly blue, but has sections of seats that spell out the team name FC Barcelona and an appropriate phrase “Mes que un club” (More than a club). I was expecting a Doak Campbell student section type of experience but that was also not the case. The fans sat quietly for the majority of the game, only applauding on around ten to fifteen ‘soccer appropriate’ occasions such as a steal away from Sevilla or a close shot on goal. The only fans that stood the whole game were sitting above us (we were only 10ish rows from the absolute top, so they were close) and boy were they boisterous. They were constantly yelling chants that only they seemed to know the words to, with my favorite being “Pu-ta Se-Vi-LLa, Pu-ta Se-Vi-Lla, Puta Sevilla!” (maybe because that was the only one I could actually understand.) You would think they would be drunk, but no, bare sober, just intoxicated by the game (really, they only sold non-alcoholic beer at the stadium (good thing we had an ace in the hole)).

The end of the game was pretty intense. It had been a 0-0 tie all game and then during extra time, the best player in the world (guy on the back of my jersey) gets slide tackled next to the goal and gets a penalty kick (those reading who don’t know what this is…like a free throw for getting fouled in basketball, except there’s a goalie in front of the hoop trying to block it). Everyone was definitely cheering at this point, but then anticlimactically, he missed. The walk out of the stadium was much like the walk into the stadium (except we got a sausage sangwish (sandwich) on the way out, it was served medium rare and was phenomenal).

Later that night we decided to go out to club CatWalk down by the coast of Barcelona. While it was definitely fun, there were a couple of X-factors we thought we might encounter, but really underestimated. First of all, house music songs are hard to tolerate at a high volume, especially when they all sound the same. Second, dancing in Spain is completely different than back home; dancing couples simply two-step in front of each other and no one in the whole club fist pumps, really, no one fist pumps. Lastly, ice is hard to come by at Spanish clubs, so shots are served warm, making them 10x worse than normal chilled shots. All of those X-factors combined with fatigue from the game and the fact that it was 5am in the morning, we decided it was time to go back to the hostel.

Coinciding with our post club after party ritual of the trip, we pounded a bottle of Paparika flavored Pringles and went to sleep.

The next day we had an 8pm overnight train to Bern, Switzerland so we decided to explore the coast of Barcelona since we hadn’t been there all trip. It was definitely a sight to see. The port was full of multi-million dollar yachts Oprah couldn’t afford and the Mediterranean Sea was equally as eye catching.

Dinner that night was one of my favorite of Barcelona. We searched the back alleys for a restaurant that didn't have any English menus, we learned Spanish (well, I learned Spanish, Nick just copied me on test days apparently) and we wanted to use it. We stumbled across a restaurant with people standing outside yelling orders at employees inside making sangwishes. After a 10 minute wait to get a table (1 of the 5 in the restaurant) Nick gave me the reins and told me to make it count #goodcall. I walked up to the counter and ordered two sangwiches, (one with eggs, manchego cheese, and pesto sauce; the other with chicken, feta cheese, pesto sauce, tomatoes, onions, and a ranch sauce to top it off), an appetizer of sun-dried tomatoes on top of bread with a tzatziki spread to dip, and then the star of the show "papas bravas." I don't know what that means in Spanish, but here's what it meant to our stomachs: fried potatoes (think Taco Bell 'cheesy fiesta' type potatoes), with 4 sauces spread all over them (one 'creme fresh' sauce, one spicy type, one type of 'dill-flavored-cream- sauce, and one balsamic vinaigrette. Oh. My. God. One of the best things I have ever eaten...ever. I wish my camera was working (pictures to come after I buy a new battery) so I could show the presentation of the dish, it looked like something you would see either at an expensive up-scale cafe or an oddly expensive buffet line.

Before we boarded the train to Switzerland, I took one last picture of the train station and my camera screen turned black with blinking white words that said “Battery exhausted!!” I chuckled to myself thinking, “Us too.”

Barcelona: Day 1 and 2

Despite our best efforts, we actually caught our first train without breaking a sweat. First thing we noticed: high speed trains are named such for a REASON. Damn thing went just over 200 mph. Got to Barcelona in just under 3 hours, which also gave us a chance to catch a much needed nap. Second thing we noticed: they don't speak spanish in Barcelona. They speak Catalan. It's a completely different language. How did we not learn this in Spanish class? Luckily the subway system worked the same way it did in Madrid, so we took it straight to our Hostel from the train station. The hostel we went to first had a label on the door that read: "If you want to sleep, go SOMEWHERE ELSE." We checked in. Our four bed dorm was by far, the smallest room I've ever been in. It was a squeeze fitting one bunk bed in there, but putting two in turned it from room to roomette. Either way, the hostel had a common room area fully equipped with pool table, foozeball table, and bar, all of which were useful. This hostel also sponsored a club trip each night in which the residents got free entry. After checking the schedule and seeing that we were to meet in the common room to leave at 2am, we knew it was probably going to be a pretty ridiculous night.

For lunch we decided on a selection of Tapas, which included grilled snails in a butter garlic broth, jamon de serrano, artisan bread with a tomato and garlic spread, more croquettes, and some marinated spanish peppers. The snails automatically rank in the top 5 of everything we've eaten during the trip so far. You literally could have drank the broth with a straw and been in food heaven. After lunch, we hit the streets for a little walk down the coastline and a little trip to an Irish pub. They had 5 Euro pints of Stella, which of course we were in for, but in a surprise twist the pub owner was actually Irish and spoke American. After talking with him for a little bit, he casually drops two absinthe shots in front of us, without speaking a word. Nice guy. At this point, it was about 6-7 at night, and we decided to catch a late siesta before the club that night. The dance club itself (once we finally went at 2:45am) was pretty nice; classy place, hip hop and dance music (with a little dancehall sprinkled in), an all around good time. We met some of our American cohorts who were convinced we were from Jersey, so naturally we went along with it and told them that Pauly D was actually a cousin of ours. Several "Oh Yeah's" and "Cabs are here's" later, we got back to the hostel. Joe instantly began a quest to find a 24 hour pizza joint, which entailed asking at least 15 to 18 locals where we could find pizza (if you haven't met drunk Joe, asking is probably more specifically defined as yelling "PIZZA!!" at the people you see with his hands pointing in several directions at once). A half hour search later yielding no results, we settled on a street vendor that was selling paprika flavored Pringles, and almost ate the whole thing before we even had a chance to pay him. After getting back to the hostel, we found our one roommate asleep, however decided it was a good time to have one of those drunken heart to heart conversations, which lasted approximately 45 minutes to an hour (the length and content of the conversation is a guess, and it based on the subsequent events in the morning).

Waking up hungover is never fun. Waking up to a pissed off roommate slamming his locker door open and closed over and over again…….less fun. Apparently this guy missed the sign on the front of the hostel door (noted above). Either way, we slept through his feeble attempt to wake us up. We realized around 11am that we needed to make something of the day, so we got our stuff together and walked to the Parc de la Ciutadella. The park did not disappoint. The "picture of the day" is of the fountain at the center of the park (by the way, whenever a sight or structure makes the "picture of the day" ahead of any food items, you know it must be pretty damn cool). It was also in this park that we found the zoologica de Barcelona. After a bit of debate as to whether the entrance fee was worth it (15 Euros), we decided to go ahead on and splurge a little for some animals. Your standard "good call" expression would be an understatement here: We saw animals you honestly would not see anywhere, at any zoo in America. Massive Kangaroos, Lions, Tigers, Jamon de serrano flavored Ruffles (ok, maybe not an actual animal, but beastly flavor nonetheless), Cheetahs, Komodo Dragons, and the anaconda snake from the movie. Biggest snake I've ever seen. The only reason it fit in it's pen was because it was curled up. Highlight of the zoo trip: As we're walking from one exhibit to the next, Joe is nonchalantly walking next to a fence line, checking his photos from the previous cage. He proceeds to walk directly into a Llama whose head is sticking up over the fence (I'm not joking you, the llama was 6'5 feet tall on all fours). Just before he head buts it, he sees it, craps his pants, screams (high pitch), and runs away. I joined the locals for the best laugh of the trip so far.

After walking to the park (at least 2 miles), walking through the zoo (3 miles….massive zoo) and back to the hostel (2 miles), I needed a serious siesta. Three wonderful hours of sleep later, we hit the boardwalk for dinner. After checking probably 5 or 6 places, we decided on one that had paella with mussels, shrimp, chicken, spare ribs, squid, and peppers. The paella was extremely tasty, however after living in Tampa for so long, I can say that we're pretty close to the real thing. Paella being the main star of the show, we would be remiss to overlook the blue cheese pizza (wow) and croquettes, which were also pretty darn good. We came to a joint decision after dinner (uncomfortably full) that we should take it easy and get a good night's sleep.

Forget El Prado, how do we get to el Mercado

Waking up Wednesday morning was a bit of a challenge. Our hostel sponsors a Pub Crawl every night of the week, so we begrudgingly accepted their invitation to join them for the night. After meeting a young couple from Croatia, us and our roommate joined them for a couple international drinking games and then hit the town with the backpackers from another hostel. We finally met some American backpackers, and actually got a chance to talk with some of the Hostel directors (who were originally from Germany) about our plans, and what we should and shouldn't do. It was after this conversation that Ibiza was cut from the itinerary (even though we were extremely reluctant to make the cut, apparently it's completely dead this time of year) and Brussels is now possibly being replaced with Bruges. Unfortunately for us, during our conversation we realized that the "free cocktail" that came with our entrance fee was a shot of tequila, which apparently pushed us just over the limit of whether or not post-club eating was in the picture (the story ends with six slices of "tipo de italiano pizza con jamon y parmesan," the bill for which absolutely put us over budget for the day…..we are quickly finding that putting us in a place where the food truck items can all possibly rank in the top 10 meals we've ever had along with alcohol is creating a pricier trip than we expected). After breakfast and taking care of Thursdays train tickets, we decided to check out El Parque de Retiro. The park itself was massive; almost like Central Park, but with lakes and huge fountains and monuments everywhere. We picked up a couple of bocadillos for a light lunch (chorizo and jamon con queso) and ate in the park. After wandering down further, we accidentally ran in to the Museo del Prado, and decided to check it out (personal opinion: If I see another portrait named something like "Old Man with an Apple," or "Young Woman looking Stately," I might vomit. There were a couple paintings that were interesting, and they had a single Picasso that was pretty cool. It cost 10 Euros to get in. End of story). Afterwards, we checked out a couple of nearby Cathedrals and caught the subway back to the hostel for a little siesta.

Now that jet lag has finally worn off, we were able to schedule our day in the traditional Spanish way. Breakfast around 9:30, lunch around 3, and dinner at 10:30. We found a street lined with famous restaurants and Tapas bars, and went from place to place until we found one that was mildly affordable and had something different we wanted to try. We ended up getting Spiced Octopus with potatoes, fried eggs topped with sauteed onions (sounds simple, but it had more flavor than any egg dish I've ever had), and two Ciabatta bread Tostas: one with steak and a herb butter sauce, and one with smoked salmon, manchego cheese, oregano and crema. All around, everything was pretty ridiculous. Afterwards, we went back to el Mercado de San Miguel for what ended up being the biggest, most delicious chocolate mousse truffle I've ever had. Joe concurred with several minutes of speechlessness and a facial expression that said something like "this is so good it hurts."

The night ended with a 2-3 hour stroll around Plaza Mayor and Gran Via. Gran Via reminded me a lot of Times Square: even at 2 or 3 in the morning, the streets are still packed with people, locals and tourists, either going out or eating (yes, still eating at 3am….at least we weren't the only ones). Despite the fact that my chances of being "clipped" by a car grow exponentially by the day, the chance that Joe gets shanked by a club promoter does as well. Following the routine on every Jamaica trip (several will testify to this) walking down the street we were constantly approached by men wanting us to go to their bar or club, handing out flyers and offering drink specials. Joe will initiate the conversation in Spanglish, ask about the drink specials, ask the guy where the bar is, let the guy lead us to it for about a block or so before saying "hard left," and ditching the guy without notice. I'm not completely familiar with Spanish culture, however I would bet this is not taken as a compliment. After Tuesday night's pub crawl, we decided to hit the hay rather than go out, due to a Thursday/Friday/Saturday stint in Barcelona that should be as exhausting as it will be fun.

And it begins......

After a day in Madrid, it has officially set in that this will be life for the next month. Summing it up in a few paragraphs is completely out of the question so I’ve decided on a few short lists

Top Things I Never Expected

• The food is ridiculous. Unbelievable. Every meal leaves you with the feeling of “Wow, this may be the best meal of my life.” What’s weird is that I’ve become so accustomed to eating until I can hardly breathe back in the states that I was worried about portion size, but I quickly learned that eating in Spain, while it may not leave you completely stuffed, will always leave you thoroughly satisfied.

• Gypsies are not dressed as such.

• Spaniards never sweat. The weather has been a perfect ~60 degrees the whole time we’ve been here; warm in the sun, cool in the shade. But the locals are always dressed in long pants and jackets, never sweating. #don’tgetit

• The ATM will eat your card if you put a credit card instead of a debit card inside. Happened to Nick last night.

Food

• Breakfast was, to me at least, the best meal we’ve had so far. We went to this ‘cerveceria’ (can’t remember the name) and ordered “tostones con bacon y queso” as well as “tostones con smoked salmon, queso, y oregano.” Wow. Best breakfast of my life so far. Every bite had my taste buds bowing in appreciation. Nick ordered croquetas con jamon (ham) and was in heaven.

• Lunch was equally as wonderful but pleasantly different. We went to “el Mercado de San Miguel” and sampled food from various local merchants. Prized item had to be the cabrales bleu cheese though. Best (#commontheme) bleu cheese you can imagine. Close second goes to the sangria made with whiskey, rum, coca cola, cognac, and fresh fruit. First sangria we’ve had, and boy did it not disappoint.

• Dinner was, to Nick, the best meal we’ve had so far. Dinner here is different. Their biggest meal is lunch so dinner usually entails numerous light tapas. Last night we each chose a tapa to split. I chose, as expected, the calamari frito (fried calamari). The calamari were a lot thicker and had a lot less breading than we’re used to back home, and also didn’t come with a dipping sauce. A friend selected croquetas (3 jamon, 3 chicken) and in my opinion, came out a lot better than the ones from breakfast, especially the chicken croqueta. Lastly, it was Nick’s pick. After a brief reassuring sales pitch, he chose braised oxtail. Naturally I was skeptical, seeing as I never pictured myself eating oxtail, but wow, I was wrong. It was perfectly cooked, the meat literally fell off the ox vertebrae it was wrapped around. The sauce that it was served over became the dipping sauce for every thing else on the table #amazing

Top Things I Am Now Expecting

• We will eat food we never imagined eating, often.

• We will get roommates from all over. Last night we roomed with a young woman from New Zealand who had been traveling Europe for the past four month. She was real nice and gave us plenty of tips for the journey ahead.

• Nick will get hit, or at least clipped by a car

• I will dream about the food here for some time to come.

Off to go siesta at a local parque (park). Miss you all! Adios!

Skype us:

Joe thelakeshow24

Nick nick.castellano

The Build Up: Part Deux

It's official: Philadelphia just cracked the top 3 food cities in the U.S. for me. We started the morning off mild with Delilah's world famous macaroni and cheese, and made sure that the title was justifiable (in case you're wondering, don't ever question Delilah's Mac and Cheese, it's just blasphemy). Second stop, Dinic's Beef and Pork (btw, this is a true example of the inner fat kid inside Joe and myself). Hot and crispy hoagie roll, insanely delicious roast pork, sharp provolone cheese, topped with garlicky spinach. Watching the same guy who was featured on Man vs Food put my sandwich together was like watching real life food porn. The stand directly next to Dinic's just happened to create a chocolate designed after our life motto (see the "picture of the day" below), and we proceeded to sample several truffle selections.

After making several stops at heavenly food destinations, we decided to be responsible tourists and visit the Liberty Bell, a symbol of our nations's freedom.

After breezing through that, we went straight to the home-base of the greatest film of all time: The Rocky Series. As we approached the steps of where the MML (Man, Myth, Legend) ran, I got goosebumps (no homo). The age old joke kept running through my mind (What's the difference between Rocky and God……..Trick question, Rocky IS God). Some of you may think this is a bit obsessive, but the man ended the Cold War, he deserves our respect (please reference Rocky IV).

After running up the Rocky steps and jumping in the air, repeatedly screaming "ADRIAN!!!" as helpless passersby watched in horror (and silent remembrance), we went in search of the illusive, legitimate local Philly Cheesesteak. We decided that we needed to poll the locals to get the right location for our taste test. After getting a sample of locals, we soon realized that the best locals to question (the most well travelled in local Philly food) were police officers. Surprisingly, every overweight officer we asked made a serious case for Jim's Steaks, exuding disgust for the famous Gino's, telling us that it was "touristy and fake……just gristle compared to Jim's." Two full Philly's later, lets just say that they were absolutely right, and that cheese whiz and fried onions are the perfect toppings for the perfect cheesesteak.

After a couple drinks, we headed back for the airport and boarded our flight to Madrid. In all honesty, void of all sarcasm, it was not until the plane took off that the significance of both the length and scope of our trip sunk in.

The Build Up: Part 1

A thought came to mind this morning: How the hell did this whole idea come about? This is the type of trip that people usually talk about and wish they could do, before they begin thinking realistically and realize that it's never going to happen. To some degree, it still feels that way. Joe and I have probably spoken on the phone everyday for the past 2 weeks and the trip has probably come up in conversation one time (aside from conversations concerning what we need to buy for the trip). At this point (5 days before we leave) neither one of us can wrap our minds around the idea of what's about to happen, what we are about to experience. It still feels like it's too good to be true. 

I think that's enough of a touchy-feely intro to cover us for the remainder of the trip. Let's get down to brass tax here. The name of this blog is what us English people call a "literary allusion" to one of the great travel movies of all time, "Beavis and Butthead Do America." If you haven't seen it, you should be ashamed of yourself. Furthermore, the url address references one of my favorite television shows right now, "Throwdown with Bobby Flay." Most of you know my affinity for eating challenges, and in a lot of ways I'm assuming that's what this trip is ultimately going to become, so I decided to name the blog thusly. In one of our strategy sessions, Joe and I were going over what we need to do as soon as we land in Madrid. My first thoughts included finding a hostel (seeing as we have not booked any), or booking our train out of Madrid (haven't booked a single train either). Joe's response: "We're getting something to eat." That was a tough sell.