>Is anyone else traumatized by the smell of rotting whipped cream!?

>Seriously…if you haven’t smelled it…DON’T! It haunts me to this day…
(Note from the future – that was actually just the washing detergent I was using, but it DID smell like rotten whipped cream, I swear)

So this week Sonja and I made a road trip up to Aachen to see Dieter, another friend from Leeds. Sonja also had a friend living in Aachen, so it all worked out splendidly. Until I decided to go to an erasmus party. But that is a story for later.

Sonja and Dieter looking thoughtful over a city fountain in Maastrict, Netherlands.

So it turns out Aachen is right near the border of BOTH Belgium and the Netherlands, and we made a short drive into Maastrict, a chillin Dutch city, to hang for the day. After our due sightseeing was finished, and armed with Dutch and Belgian beer and snacks (stroopwaffles included, of course) we headed back to Germany to fill our bellies. But NOT before we managed to be in three countries at once, of course.

Yah right!

The drive home was filled with the typical (and legal!) beer drinking in cars and the resultant decoration of Sonja’s headrests:

Cool AND legal!

We hung around Aachen for dinner and a few beers, and then headed back to Dieter’s place to get some sleep. His roommates, however, were just predrinking for an Erasmus party. “Who ever said no to an erasmus party?” I asked. So it ends up that I go out with a bunch of Dieter’s Spanish roommates that I never met before, and get lost within 5 minutes of making it to the bar. Realizing the fact that I have no phone, no phone numbers, and no idea of where I am, I decide to make some friends…fast. No worries! “Hey guys, I know I just met you, but I’m drunk and lost, can I stay at your place?” They respond with a hearty “of course!” before getting really drunk and disappearing just like the people I came with! So I give it another go…hey, there’s that guy I was talking to with those other guys! Maybe I can stay at his place! After hanging with him for a while, going to some sketch drug dealers house, and wandering the streets for a while, I remember that I do know an address, but for Sonjas place, not Dieters. “19 Roermondstrasse!”

So the dude I was hanging with delivers me to the address, and I hesitantly puch the buzzer to wake up Sonja and Christina to let me in. No answer. So I push it again. Nothing. Keep in mind that I had been out drinking for the past few hours, it was 5 am and I was tired. So I started buzzing in morse code ‘S.O.S’, ‘O.S.O’, and other silly things like that. I’m not sure how long that was going on for, but I decided that I would just sleep on the doorstep for a few hours, and Christina would trip over me on her way out to work in the morning. As I get ready to lie down, Sonja quietly answers: “who is this?” HOORAY! “It’s Jeff, I’m drunk and I’m lost!” I reply pathetically. It turns out they thought I was some kind of angry ex boyfriend or drug dealer, since no one knew that Christina lived at this address, and she just started renting it from some unknown girl a week before. And who rings the buzzer incessantly at 5 am?!? So they let me up to sleep on the couch where I snored all night and disrupted their slumber. Not that I didn’t already scare them enough that they couldn’t sleep the rest of the night. What an ass.

The Leeds crew at a very very pink bar.

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