After my family left Europe, I had nothing to do. There I was, in Berlin, having made it from Korea to western Europe by land, my original goal completed.
Instead of basking in the culmination of my achievement and making concrete plans to move on or head home, I moved into an open room at a friend's place and was thoroughly lazy. I tried hunting down some boats on the Internet that would take me across the Atlantic, but that wasn't very successful.
Eventually I had to move out, and I spent three days in a hostel wondering what to do with myself. I went to a fashion trade show with an Australian CouchSurfer I'd previously met, lounged in parks, and accompanied a Swedish kid while he bought weed from some shifty Africans that kept their stash hidden in plain sight in trash among the bushes in Gorlitzer Park.
I had some friends I considered visiting elsewhere, but hadn't made any plans with them. I hadn't heard back from a friend of mine in southern France via email so I finally got the novel idea of calling him up. Stephane answered, and was in the hospital because one of his tourists hurt himself since he wasn't used to being clipped into bikes.
It was Wednesday evening, and he said he had all next week off. That was perfect since it would take me at least three days to hitchhike from northern Germany to southern France. All of a sudden I had another goal, and just like that, felt excited to be in Europe again.
The only thing was, I should've asked Stephane what town he lived in before I left Berlin the next morning.
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