Super-Duper Wacky n' Tacky Euro Adventure

Looks like I’m finally on my way back to Russia. It’s been to long, but it feels weird to leave this side of Europe again. This past quarter has been so great, it’s hard to leave it behind. But at last, it must happen, and the summer must begin.

I’m right now in the international terminal (or as I thought of it, the ‘let’s give the Russians the ghetto terminal’) of Berlin Tegel International Airport. I have just spent a very whirlwind weekend in Berling occupying myself with mainly two things: 1) football, 2) The death penalty in a comparative perspective. Well, not in that order. But all three of my days went something like this: Wakeup. Eat doner kebap. Scavange the city for free internet or bum off of the Stanford Berlin center. Work a ridiculous amount on your paper that I erased five pages from on Thusday. More kebap, or bratwurst/curry wurst. Football and beer to finish the day. Wash, rinse, repeat. And what a cool environment going on in the city/country. My only regret is that I don’t have more time/money to do what everyone else is doing and simply follow your team around Germany and root ridiculously loud. Also, as I learned, your team jersey must be worn no matter if it’s game day or not. And always wear it with pride. Yesterday brought a particularly difficult situation as the American pride was surging with some decent play (as opposed to that other game) and I had nothing with which to represent. Darren and I thought to ourselves: ‘actually, I don’t know if I would be completely comfortable draping myself in the American flag.’ It just carries a bit too much, which is a shame. However, if Italy was going to win, I would have fully supported invading that country as well. What have they done for us lately? Guess I’ll just have to settle with buying myself a jersey (which is really ugly, nike!). Well, the game should have been ours but a tie is nice, and the outcome for progression will be learned next game day.

It appears the plane has arrived, and you know how the Russian’s love themselves a good line. Better get my babushka-shoving elbows ready.