Berlin and Vampire Weekend

So just to make a little bit of sense of this blog, this is Marissa. Right now, Lauren is sitting next to me sucking a piece of camembert. Yes, sucking. The point of this blog is to document our, so far, wild adventure across Europe...through two sets of eyes (and fingers). For example while Lauren sees her pretty gold bag from Cue, I see an evil item of clothing that screams 'rob me' or 'please, drop my bright yellow travel wallet out of me and see how much fun I have laughing at you later muhahaha'. That's a story for later though. Ow, don't smack me Loz. But in all seriousness, we are so completely different, and I write waaaay better - (Loz), that I think eventually anybody will be able to tell who is writing from the first word. There are already so many stories to tell that I think I'll start on the first day I said goodbye to Mum and Dad in Paris...(the doo doo doo music starts and the screen goes wobbly and we're going back in time exactly two weeks..). Please be patient...this is a long story

I'd just had my first tears saying goodbye to my parents as I readied myself to head to Austria for some skiing. Dad said to me in the lift going down to the cab,
"Lauren just said to me, 'don't worry Geoff, I'll look after her'. But I think you'll be the one looking after her," and I laughed along with him. Ten minutes later as we're speeding along to the airport (actually we're stuck in peak hour traffic) I realised that I had left my wallet in Brigette's bag the previous night. So there I am on the phone to my mum, crying again, and cursing my stupid self and my father for jinxing me. 60 Euro later, we finally made it to CDG airport (at the wrong terminal of course) and eventually found easyJet. Once we're done waiting in line, we're told by the snooty French girl at the desk that we have 15kg over in weight.
"But I paid extra for another whole bag," I protested. What I failed to read in the terms and conditions, was that didn't mean we were entitled to any extra weight. Hmmm, 'so how much is it per kilo,' Lauren asks.
"12 Euro a kilo," she responded curtly.
Oh shit.
Tears started to well and Lauren and I looked blankly at each other praying for a reprieve.
I honestly think the girl just didn't want a scene with the two of us grown girls having a mental breakdown in the middle of the line.
"Fine, I'll make it 5kg over. You have to go back outside to pay this."
The zipper on my bag then broke. Yay. With all my possessions falling out, Lauren made it to the queue and paid the money before we both ran back inside (my bag somehow fixed itself) and just made it in time for the final call for our flight.
With so much extra weight, Lauren decided we should drop off some of our gear at a friend's place in London (we were in London by the way to catch a bus directly to Hopfgarten where we were going skiing in Austria). We figured out the tube system and made our way to Clapham North. We were both jubilant when we made it to Lauren's friend house and the right person answered the door. We started getting rid of all our gear when Loz began to have her second nervous breakdown for the day.
"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God" she seethed nervously, "I can't find my yellow travel wallet!". Queue evil gold bag. She'd had her travel wallet in it and somewhere along the way, it had fallen out.
We began calling the police station, the Australian Consulate, Contiki to see if Lauren could still travel without her passport (which, of course, she couldn't) while Lauren's friend offered us a stiff drink each (a Jager bomb). After at least half an hour of trying to get through to various authorities, Lauren's phone rang. All I heard from the hallway was a very high-pitched, 'YES, I'M LAUREN BARKER!'. I knew we were saved. All we knew at this point was that a lorry driver had seen the gaudy, bright thing from the side of the road and thought he'd better rescue it. We weren't 100 per cent how he had managed to call her, but we didn't care. A cab was called and the driver thought 40 quid was the appropriate fare. So we started heading to south London and finally made it to the wreckers yard where the driver worked. He'd found Lauren's number on her travel insurance documents.While Lauren was getting her stuff back, the cabbie told me he needed to call his mate to find out where the hell our Contiki bus went from. Lauren ran back to the cab and just as she jumped in, dickhead driver reversed straight into a car parked on the street.
"Oh shit, oh shit," he cried (honestly, I was a little glad someone else was having a meltdown that day too).
"This could take a while," he yelled as he jumped out of the car and started yelling at the bloke from the wreckers. I don't think he realised at that point what the wrecker was yelling back at him because he started to get irate. It was only when Lauren and I also heard the words 'don't worry, that car is getting pulled apart tomorrow,' that all of us could relax.

So...we certainly didn't believe we'd be going to Austria that night. Oh, sorry, correction. I didn't believe Lauren would be coming with me to Austria that night but by some kind twist from the fates, we got on that damn bus, only to have the girls two seats up from us spew all over themselves, all over the seats and all over the bus toilets after consuming a litre of straight vodka that night.

Sorry for the long post, but it is a long story. At least I warned you. Lauren will write soon. I'm sure she'll tell you who Fatboy is.