I sit on the train from Clermont-Ferrand to Paris trying not to touch my knees against the young woman’s sitting directly across from me. We shall try not to look at each other for the next five hours. Squeals of an infant, also across from me, screech through my hearing aids. The old “I can be comfortable in an uncomfortable environment” affirmation plays in my mind. It does not work. Why am I always facing the opposite direction when sitting on these trains? Young mama hands papa the baby. He changes its diaper on the empty seat between us. (I shall put away the remainder of my baguette/ham sandwich for now) Polite irritation begins to replace my anxiety. Getting my travel legs back, baby. Just part of the journey.

Train Travel France

The train arrives late at this massive “Gare de Nord” interchange station in Paris. I ran with my bags to find a taxi that would get me to the Paris “Nord” station across town. Ran to the wrong place. Then ran all the way back to the right place. I am in a hurry, my connecting train leaves in one-half hour. Of all the cabbies in Paris, I draw the slowest, rudest one, who constantly talks on the car speaker phone. He missed a green light, and I want to thump him. Does he not know that I am freaking out back here? Soon, I see why he does not hurry. A mile-long line of gridlock grips the streets of Paris, due to infrastructure re-construction in preparation for the upcoming Olympics. I would miss my connection even if no construction in the midst of this rush hour traffic. All of that anxiety about missing connections, and somehow missing one does not end the world. Viola! I purchase a new ticket enroute to Brussels, Belgium. Get me the “F” out of France!

Travel often rewards a grueling day. In pouring rain, I sit under a café canopy eating mussels in Brussels, along with great beer and meaningful conversation. Who knew that Brussels is famous for mussels? Changes the whole meaning of that song by those down under. Most restaurants cook mussels with pride in twenty separate flavors. These come steamed in coconut curry. I could dip fries in this juice forever. Along with Monk Trappist Beer, 9.5% alcohol, which goes down as easy as Coor’s Light. Dangerous.

Mussels in Brussels

Steve, my new drinking buddy, buys more rounds. He moved here from Queens, NY thirteen years ago and has never been back. “I’m sick of it though,” he said. “It rains like this for nine months out of the year.”

Bam! A car and bicycle collide. By the time I hurry over to help, the driver and rider are shaking hands. They both rode off, the cyclist a bit wobbly. Steve and I discussed potential outcomes of such an incident if it happened in the US.

A new day brings a genuine Belgium waffle with it. I went for chocolate and chopped peanut topping.

Belgium Waffles

The “Grand Place” in Brussels lives up to its name in both size and architecture. Large crowds full of positive vibes fill the square and surrounding streets. This town is made for strolling and roaming around.

Grand Place, Brussels, Belgium

Forget NATO Headquarters and other points of interest. I trek over to the Comic Strip Center Museum. Along the way, while trying to cross a crowded street, I find myself smack in the middle of a Gay Pride Parade! Huge party.

Gay Pride Parade Brussels, Belgium

Comic Strip Museum in Brussels

Comic Strip Museum, Brussels

While my travels evolve into comfort and indulgence, Marilynn’s become more challenging.

Her bus from Sofia, Bulgaria to Skopje, North Macedonia made three stops to get through the border. Everybody got off the bus with their luggage for inspections. They walk fifty yards in the pouring rain and wait to reboard. Two more similar stops through the border, and everybody gets soaking wet. Officials are confused that she has no entry stamp on her passport, not realizing that she came from Spain.

Gordana, Marilynn’s sister Sally’s friend, meets her at the bus station in Skopje. She graciously invited Marilynn to stay with her family in their beautifully decorated apartment.

My gracious hosts in Skopje

They spend a nice afternoon visiting on their balcony, before dinner at a Muslim restaurant that boasts the best kabobs in town. For Marilynn, the “Shopska” and mixed salads stole the show.

Mixed Salad

Shopska Salad

The following day while the family goes to work and school, she hikes trails up Mt Vodno, just steps away from the house.

Views of Mt. Vodno from Stone Bridge

City Views from Mt. Vodno

Marilynn’s reward comes in the form of a stroll through the festive Old Quarter followed by beer, and more kabobs. This time cooked in clay pots with beans.

Old Quarter

Kabobs cooked with beans in Clay Pot

Time for her to go. Thank you, Gordana! Marilynn hops on a bus to Ohrid, Macedonia which sits on the spectacular shores of Lake Ohrid. A place that she feels every person should visit.

Ohrid, North Macedonia

Views from the Fortress

Church of Saint John the Theologian

Run along the shores every morning and explore the city later in the day.

Perfect place for a Beer in Ohrid

Happy to finally eat fish, she finds it hard to leave this area.

Trout from Lake Ohrid

But hikes in Galicica National Park call her. Yes, she is a hiking animal. The views of Lake Ohrid and Prespa Lake makes it well worth the climb.

Views of Prespa Lake

Marilynn makes her final stop in North Macedonia in the city of Bitola, because our long-deceased neighbor back in Phoenix was born there.

Saat Kula, The Clock Tower in Bitola

Of most interest to her were the ancient Greek ruins of “Heraclea Lyncestis” nearby.

Heraclea Lyncestis

Heraclea Lyncestis

Stay tuned, my friends. While my travel anxiety evolves into indulgence in Amsterdam, Marilynn’s travels to Albania resurrect angst amongst weirdness. Bizarre how the tables can turn.

Thank you, Abundant Universe!