My chemistry teacher senior year told us about a prank he pulled in college. He stole a chemical, methanol blue, and put a few drops in someone's socks. When the guy wore the socks, the sweat made the blue dye run and when he washed his feet, the water made the chemical set. (Vinegar and lemon juice are the only ways to get it off.) So this poor guy had blue feet and ankles for two months until it finally faded.

I told Kristin I had a great idea. We should put some methanol blue on this guy, Roy's, dick. He was one of those guys who slept with everyone. He had like six kids and kept a log of women. I figured we could get him real drunk at a party or I could make him think I was going to hook up with him (he always tried) and then put a few drops on. Then we could write a warning, supposedly from the school nurse, and slip it in the pile of morning announcements. It would say something about a new STD where your dick turns blue then falls off.

Two hours later, Kristin came up to me in the hallway giggling. She had just finished Physics class and in her backpack she had: methanol blue, methanol orange, methanol green, methanol red, methanol everything. She stole one of every color.

It would've been hilarious had we followed through, but unfortunately this story is very anti-climactic... Kristin had a really big mouth and told a few people. I didn't want Roy to know it was me -- we were friends. So all that happened was I spilled it in my backpack, got chemicals all over me for the next couple months and wasted bottles and bottles of vinegar.

Unless you are fluent in Romanian or have some knowledge of French chances are you won't know what you're eating and it's probably better this way. Last night I ordered cow stomach soup, a Romanian specialty. The waiter assured me it was wonderful and that I would really like it... he lied. I'm not a picky eater -- I've even eaten out of trash cans -- but this soup was like bile. It reminded me of mornings I'd like to forget (probably mornings after I ate out of trash cans). The waiter was nice enough to offer me something else, then charged me for both. He also charged me for the three pieces of bread I did not order or eat. The bread was approximately $0.25, but still. Apparently, stealing is justified because the tips are small... and they have to make a living somehow.

While enjoying your meal you'll probably be offered various performances and trinkets by people on the streets. Some of our favorites were the lottery (which we won...hell yeah, we are $0.30 richer...only $47,999.70, until we break even!), the bird that picks fortunes, the drunk lady with the accordion, and the little boy handing out pictures of religious figures. We assumed the little kid with the religious pictures didn't make too much so we splurged $0.30 and got one, only to find out that everyone in the restaurant did the same. The kid made bank... why can't we get jobs like that?

When your bill comes be sure to check the prices and make sure it's correct. If for any reason you're charged $20 for a bowl of soup, tell them. If they tell you that you ate seven portions of soup pay them for one and leave. They may chase you down the street, demand more money and even threaten to call the police. Do what we did and give them your name, the name of your hotel, room number, and insist they call police. Chances are they will give up. We haven't heard from them since.

He somehow found my tree house. It took me two days before I could find my own tree house, so I am baffled how he managed to do it after dark during the three minutes I was actually in my tree house. He must have somehow followed me... but that doesn't explain how he was able to find it again and wake me up in the morning. He wanted to buy me a cell phone. I said no thanks. I've managed to go this long without needing a cell phone, why start now? And more importantly, I don't like using people. And even more importantly, the only person who would have my number would be him.

When the bar closed at 4:00 am we were ready to go our separate ways but then they threw marijuana into the situation. Meg isn't much of a smoker but I am. I decided to spend another half hour with the guys, get high and go home. Meg's guy tried repeatedly to hook up with her and when she declined and went home, wasn't too happy. The guy I was "supposed" to hook up with got pissed off that the "plans" were ruined and bounced too.

I was left with the guy who had been talking to Meg all night. And as he was "designated" for Meg, I figured we could just be friends and hang out. Unfortunately, I don't understand Turkish and didn't catch the trade off of women the two guys made in the hotel. So there I am hanging out with this guy getting high and he tries to kiss me. Hell no, was my response. I asked him if he was kidding and what the deal was. I had been talking to his friend the whole night and now here he was trying to hook up with me. He said: "But, one is the same. It does not matter if it is me or my friend, one is the same."

No, one is not the same... and in this case one is equivalent to absolutely nothing. I explained to him that I was not going to hook up with him and I only came along to get smoke. If he wanted he could take me home right then. He apologized for his advances and we continued a very pleasant conversation for a good twenty minutes before he tried hooking up with me again. You have got to be kidding me. On the ten minute ride home he tried approximately three more times. Was this a joke or something, because I wasn't laughing. He tried to convince me that I needed to try different tastes. He said Turkish jiggy jiggy was different from every other boy in the world. That's great, too bad I didn't care to find out.

We got a good deal in Cappadochia. We were shopping at a displaced souvenir stand on the side of the road and had our eye on a couple statues of a Turkish hero whose penis is bigger than his body. Every coffee table should have one.

Some jackass vendor tried selling the statues for $20 each. ($20 is an obscene price in Turkey.) Then he added: "The original is free." We tried to bargain but he wasn't having it. He kept asking why we wanted to pay money when we could get the original for free. I told him there was no way in hell we were having sex with him but he kept pressing. I even said it loudly to embarrass him in front of other tourists and vendors. It didn't work. We realized we weren't getting anywhere so we walked away.

We walked about 10 feet before the jackass chased us down. Somehow we were surrounded by five vendors and the 'sit on my dick' deal was still being offered. We asked him if we could get the statues for $3 each if we took the original for free. He started drooling. We had a deal.

He wrapped the statues in newspaper and put them in a bag. We told him the name of a hotel we weren't staying at and said we'd meet him in the lobby at 11:30. He gave us his phone number. Uh, sure. We never gave him the $6 we agreed on. We just took the bag, kept walking and made sure we were no where near the fake hotel at 11:30.

We decided to stay at the bars all night and left our luggage in a moderately safe random place. But it's hard to stay out all night when you're sick. (Cough cough... I felt miserable.) Around 11:30 we saw a nice hotel and I was so tired I would have paid anything.

We stood at the front desk for a minute but the lobby was bustling and no one helped us. Then Erin walked to the elevator. I wasn't sure where she was going, but I followed. We went to the top floor and found two comfy chairs. We wanted blankets so we searched for a maid's closet... We found better. The room marked 'privat' was unlocked and after we dragged the cushions in we had a spacious bedroom.

We slept soundly until the door opened in the morning. Someone turned on the lights and saw us. They apologized, turned them off again and left. We figured it was the perfect time to leave but we weren't quick enough. When we opened the door half the staff was waiting for us. What the hell could we do but smile and say, "Hola!"

We tried to scurry down the stairs but they escorted us in the elevator. We smiled a lot and apologized for not speaking Spanish. When the elevator opened in the lobby I saw a pot of coffee and stacks of cups. I tried for a cup but apparently coffee is only for guests who pay for their rooms

Unfortunately this contraption has not been culturally accepted in Turkey or Morocco. Rather than sit down, use toilet paper, then flush, they prefer to squat over a tiny hole in the ground, wipe with their left hand and hope the piss goes down the drain. Call me ignorant, but I just don't understand.

Meg has the whole process down to an art but I have been struggling for approximately three weeks now. For some reason I can't get it right. This has forced me to "hold it" for as long as I can possibly stand. I can usually last a good twelve hours, but then I gotta go... and after drinking tea and water for twelve hours, there is a hell of a lot of pee that needs to come out. To put it nicely: when the piss comes, it really comes. It comes at such rapid speeds that I might as well forget about aiming for the two inch wide hole in the ground. My bathroom experience usually ends with wet feet. Fortunately, there is a faucet in the "toilet." They use it to wash their left hand and I use it to rinse off my feet. As for going number two, forget it. We've been in Morrocco for ten days, my stomach is really starting to hurt, and I could really use a new pair of shoes.

In Spain we were caught in the 'Privat' room. They brought the whole staff upstairs to laugh at us.

In Italy the train station closed on us. (We weren't trying to sleep there, we were temporarily dodging the rain and they thought we were trying to sleep there.) They told us to get the hell out.

In Turkey we couldn't get a bus back to Istanbul until the next morning. A random guy on the street had just gotten off work at a hotel. He brought us to the lobby, dimmed the lights, provided pillows and blankets and his coworker gave us coffee in the morning.

In Morocco people we met wouldn't even take us to a hotel. They took us to their houses and gave us ultra comfortable beds after a yummy dinner.

My least favorite country to get busted in has been Germany. In this city, they raise the prices 250% for Oktoberfest and the rooms are gone two months in advance. Still, no sympathy from these people. The maid our first night busted us wrapped in blankets in the hallway. We told her we had had a fight with our boyfriends. She chased us down seven flights of stairs demanding to know our room number the whole way. We only got away because I waved goodbye to the hotel receptionist as if I knew her. The maid redirected the room number question at the receptionist and we kept walking. Scornful woman.

He skipped his train and we ended up at Kunstpark Ost. We got some beers and started getting really pissed. About four hours later the guy looked at me and said, "I don't feel so right, can we go?" Sure, no problem. I thought maybe he was just a little bored, but then he started hallucinating. The lucky bastard got drugged and it wasn't ruphenol, which just makes you black out and throw up for twelve hours, it was some sort of drug that makes you trip. How jealous was I? I wanted to be the one hallucinating. We spent a good couple of hours looking at trees and bushes. I'm sure it was fascinating for him. If I hadn't experienced the feeling once or twice myself, I probably would have been annoyed, but I think it's really cute when someone can look at a wall for half an hour and think it's the coolest thing they have ever seen.

We got "home" to Hotel Flora at about 6:00 am. We made our bed in the hallway. (No, we didn't have a room there.) Even though the guy was tripping, I think he was still a little confused as to why we were sleeping in hallways of hotels we weren't supposed to be in. It was probably a little more odd when we told him we had a friend in Munich we could stay with but we enjoy sneaking into hotels and seeing how long it takes for them to kick us out. In fact, most people are confused by this.

We slept too soundly until 9:00 am when the maid and the manager woke us up. They asked what we were doing in the hallway. I explained that we had a room but we were locked out and it was too late in the night to bang on doors, so we just made a bed in the hall. They asked which room we were in and we said, "27." The manager offered to let us in, but seeing how room 27 had two American guys we had scared the shit out of the night before, we declined.

It was about that time I noticed my black bag was missing. I thought Meg had picked it up, so I didn't worry. When I ran into her ten minutes later and she didn't have it, I realized somebody had stolen my bag. This is the third time this summer that I have been robbed, and they always steal things they can't even use. Someone somewhere is the proud owner of my contacts, my glasses and my dirty laundry. How pissed are they? Had they been smarter they would have taken the bag beside it with the money, credit cards, and digital camera.

I went back to the hotel like I was a guest and asked the maid if she had seen the bag. She was so nice. She opened the door to every room on the hallway, said she was the control and let me open every closet and every suitcase. Most people were very compliant. The naked Italian guys weren't very amused and the lady we woke up wasn't too happy either, but everyone else was helpful. The bag didn't turn up, but what can you do...that's life. I'm not upset. I find it very amusing, not quite as amusing as when the guy stole my purse and drained my checking account and maxed out my credit cards at Toys 'R Us, but it's a close second.

The first doctor was a true Nazi. I asked how much a visit would cost and she told me $80. Now, I don't mind paying $80 but if I can pay less, I'm going to try. I gave her the whole sob story that I've gotten real good at... I'm a student, I'm poor, I slept on the streets last night, student discount?, pity discount?... I even spoke her language. She wasn't having it. She told me that if I could afford to be in Europe, I could afford to go to the doctor. She actually shoved me out of the door and slammed it in my face. Here I am dying of some crazy African illness and $80 dollars is more important than my life. She didn't even let me finish my sentence... I was in the middle of consenting to the charges.

So I tried another doctor -- this time a dermatologist. There were two and they didn't know what to do with me. They made me get completely naked while they walked around me in circles inspecting every bump with gloves and a magnifying glass. They told me that the bumps looked like bug bites. Yeah, thanks assholes, I told you that from the beginning... but there was no cloud of bugs following me around Munich. They gave me some anti-itching cream and told me to come back in a week if it was still there.

I did what any girl would do... I asked my mom. My mom is a smart lady. She started asking about other symptoms. I thought my fingers were swollen from carrying five suitcases back from Spain. I thought my neck and back were sore from sleeping in random places. I thought the first sign of the bumps on my forehead a week ago was just acne. Then I remembered how I had been complaining of bad headaches and ringing in my ears. I hadn't connected any of them.

I researched my possible illness online... if the doctors couldn't figure it out, I should start trying. As a note, if you ever want to be scared, start reading about incurable African diseases from a fly bite and recall how many flies swarmed around you. Anyway, I decided I had a real serious one and thank god for Fil or I would have cried the whole night. Instead, I thought it was real funny.

I went to the Center for Tropical and Infectious Disease in the morning and it wasn't funny anymore. I hadn't slept for two days and was on the brink of death, so I didn't even attempt to speak in German. I tried my whole student-slept-on-the-streets-last-night-and-help-me-I'm-dying sob story and it scored me no points. The secretary decided I wasn't sick and told me I was just having an allergic reaction to something. Now, thank you bitch, but show me your medical degree or let me talk to a doctor. I spoke with a bit more class than that, and it sounded more like: 'pout pout, pleeeease...' Anyway, she brought me to the doctor and explained my case to him in German, thinking I didn't understand. She said something close to: 'Pretty girl is worried because the rash isn't pretty... probably got it from sleeping on the streets.... hasn't slept in two days and is irritable.' Irritable was right, I started bawling.

The doctor decided I was having an allergic reaction to something as well and ran blood work to prove it. It came up negative. Then he finally believed me and passed me off to his colleague who knew about tropical diseases. Apparently I have Mediterranean Spotted Fever... I was somehow bit by a tick. But I am strong, so it is a weak case and should clear itself up on its own. They gave me a back up prescription for antibiotics just incase. So, yay!, it's not terminal...

I ran away from the beer tent around 8pm ready to find my way home. As my sense of direction is non-existent, I could have been walking all night. But I walked by a door and it opened. I went in. There was another door and I opened it. I realized it was one of those miniature rooms with an ATM and much warmer than walking outdoors in the rain. I curled up in a corner and put the human-sized cardboard fox in front of my head. I thought I was well hidden until three people in medical uniforms woke me up. Apparently someone called me an ambulance. I swear I was the most hilarious thing they had ever seen. German people don't laugh as much as these people were... They pointed me in the right direction home.

But before I got there I noticed the Hotel Flora. This lovely hotel is the same one where Erin and I crashed at the night before when we were homeless. They have comfortable hallways. But this time the hallway had people bustling around, so I locked myself in the bathroom and slept on the floor. It was a nice bed until 800 people tried coming in.

I was halfway home when a couple American guys started talking to me. I ended up showing them where the clubs were and staying out all night. I forgot how Americans dance, but was quickly reminded. It involves one in front and one behind, passing you off like a ride. One of them tried to buy me... I couldn't really understand what he was saying. I also couldn't understand why some Spanish chick tried stealing my sweater and why I didn't punch the bitch when I caught her. She was so drunk I had to take it off her myself. While punching a drunk chick would have been low, I should've at least taken off her scarf while I was undressing her... It was cute and probably not hers to begin with.

Anyway, I realized I couldn't go back to the guy's place I was staying at because it was too late. The American guys didn't have a hotel so I escorted them to the hallway of Hotel Flora. When I left it was still raining and a very nice taxi driver took pity on me and drove me around a bit. He dropped me off at my friend's apartment and I slept on the doorstep until I was too cold to stand it. It was 9am.

I met up with some Italian boys. We were going to go hit the clubs until they remembered they had lost their friend a day and half ago and should probably wait for him to show up. Are you kidding me? When I lose Meg for two hours and I don't find her in the closest Internet cafe I get nervous, especially when we are in a city we don't know. I definitely don't wait thirty-six hours to start worrying, especially when my train leaves in five.

Then there was Effie. Effie was this forty plus year old women who was so trashed she couldn't do anything but convulse. I told her husband who was equally drunk to take her to the hospital. He said they had already been. If they release people like that then I'd hate to see the ones they make stay. I hung out with her for a little bit and tried to get her to eat and possibly throw up. The most of I got out of her was a phrase that sounded like ''uhgkangkajfdkrluaskfmn'' and a lot of drool. I hope when I am forty plus years old I'm still going hard like that, just not dying on the train station floor.

At one point I left to go see what Meg was up to. When I got back all the entrances were locked and they weren't letting people in. I snuck in the side, but the station police noticed me. I bolted up the stairs and tried to blend with the other vagrants. I guess I stuck out because they found me. I tried to be cute and play dumb, but when I was surrounded by seven rent-a-cops I went for plan number two and decided to hand them our Americangirlsareeasy.com business cards. I brought one out to give to them and then they all reached into their pockets and showed me they already had them. That was my ticket in.

I started talking to this one guy from Prague about drugs and he said, "Do you want to smoke a spliff or something?" Hell yeah, I wanted to smoke a spliff. When don't I? So, dude went to his locker and got some skunk from Afghanistan. I know my country is at war with them and everything, but I doubt the pot was Bin Laden's so I got stoned in the middle of the train station with him and Steppenwolf 10 from the Hell's Angels. I didn't know there was a German chapter of Hell's Angels, but apparently there is. He was about sixty or so, and really cool, but then he tried kissing me. He lost a couple of cool points there, but overall I still like him. I got his phone number, so if anyone tries to take me down or kick me out of their bar, I can have them killed or something.

Our flight: Frankfurt to Seattle with a five hour layover in Newark. When we arrived in Newark we were tormented at the thought of sitting on another airplane. Lucky us -- the flight was cancelled. We wanted to stay the night in NYC, so we came up with a little plan...

Continental Agent: "Let me pull your up reservation and see if they rebooked you on another airline."

Erin: "We only fly Continental."

Continental Agent: "That's very flattering. Thank you."

Erin: "Really, I'm serious."

Continental Agent: "Yes, they've already rebooked you on another flight. You'll be flying American Airlines at 7:00."

Erin: "Oh no. That won't work."

Then somehow we had a hotel room for the night, free dinner, a flight out the next day, and we didn't have to mess with our luggage. We saw a bit of the city, hung out with some friends from college during the night, and had coffee with another the next day. Then our luggage was waiting for us in Seattle. Good deal!