The Grande Duchy of Luxembourg and another name I can't pronounce

It's something like Eschh Shhhhure Shuuurrrre. Spellt Eash-sur-Sure.

I said goodbye to Switzerland with a urine-smelling train and a sweet hazelnut pastry from Bahmann's in a paper bag. I thought it was cinnamon. Bummer.

After that first train ride, I arrived at Basel which is part of Switzerland, but little did I know I had to enter the French sector of the railway station. The instance you step through those dirty doors you become a part of a secret French society where no-one speaks English, or German, even the train staff, and you have to wait on a wait on a separate platform like a lonely French island for the crap trains, while all the nice clean Swiss people waited on their nice clean Swiss platform islands for nice clean Swiss trains.

French people weren’t so polite.

My seat was reserved on a carriage which apparently didn’t exist. Ran around like headless chicken to find carriage. Eventually found someone else who had same problem. Train guard NOT helpful. Ended up sitting with Japanese-Swiss man who works for the U.N, talking about countries and travel. (His words of wisdom re the Paris dirtyness and let-down-ness which I totally agree with: “Paris. It’s made for being looked at. Not experienced.”

Realised that we had to drive through France to get to Luxembourg. French passport control gave me lots of smiles and possibly a smothered wink. Weren’t so nice to Japan.

Looking out window when entering Luxembourg, noticed that Luxembourg as a whole, looks like a small poor German town with lots of dirty factories.
Japanese man can’t believe I am staying 8 days. He is staying in the country one night and already run out of things to do before he left the station.

follow that by 2 more train rides plus a bus ride and a bit of a hike, wheeling my luggage uphill, through a monsoon, and here I am at 8pm in Esch-sur-Sŭre, a tiny village in the “Grand Duchy of Luxembourg” which no-one in their right mind would ever come to, unless they lived a couple kilometres away.

I actually feel like I am at the end of the earth.

Locals: Mostly bogans actually...

Hotel Lady: “Are you amyska?”

Thank you lady for making assumptions based on the email address haha...

Hotel Lady to Hotel Boy: “Take her to the room”

Amyshka and Hotel Boy: Walk 3 blocks in the rain to get to my ”room” which is on the other side of the village. After all that lugging my luggage up the hill, it turns out I am staying down the bottom of it...

Suitcase condition: Saturated

Amyshka: Hungry. Decided the brave the bogans and go to the hotel bar/restaurant for dinner. It's the only place with internet. I sit here now with a very weak wireless signal, in a cute and quaint bar that's basically what you would imagine a tiny bad/restaurant in southern France to be. Except it's not France. It's Luxembourg. I'm sure there must be some difference...

Tiled floors, stone walls, wooden tables, someones dog tied to a table leg... and Amyshka.

I ordered fish soup which even Hotel Boy seemed concerned about "That's all??? You don't want meat?"

Oh ok, so there IS some German-ness here.

Tomorrow I meet up with the Oak Hall group for a full week of camping. Hope the monsoon quits.