The Best that Never Was

Note: this was written on the train ride from Amsterdam on the 7th, but was not posted until today.  

This is supposed to be where I make up some elaborate lie and say I’m going to Italy or Germany or Moscow or Dubai or Sydney or really anywhere.  This is supposed to be where I tell you I’m doing anything except taking a flight to Madrid and a bus to Pamplona.  This is where I am supposed to tell you that I am doing anything BUT running with the bulls when I get there.  Alas, instead I find myself telling the truth: this is where I tell you how I found myself in a train to Paris when I least expected it.

I had originally planned on flying back to Madrid the same day Jorge leaves (today)(at the time, today was the 7th), meeting up with a couple of people, taking a bus to Pamplona and running with the bulls.  Unfortunately, nobody could find a reasonably priced way to get to Pamplona so the plans fell through.  That left me in Amsterdam with one day to plan where I was going.  At the last minute I found out Derek and John are in Paris and that trains run there regularly (and are cheaper than last minute flights).  Hostel booked, train boarded, and I begin my final week in Europe.