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Stardate 1.13 Frigate third class Cook Schmolensky potatoe peeling specialist reporting :
I have graduated from pork to veal. If one is to add meat to this bag of bones, one must maximize protein intake. Since tofu is currently on interpol's top ten list of high criminals sought for crimes against humanity, I have had to find another medium, as my pork indicators have risen to toxic levels. In addition, the trend in Germany is to make a tofu substitute composed of pork, leaving me no choice, but to switch to the other light brown meat Sadly, even the most vicious of carnivores' must think twice about consuming veal as even carnivores bear (egg) young; however, ever the intrepid explorer, I embark upon the consumption of veal with zeal.
Today as I hiked I dreamt of beaches. I dreamt of beaches, sand, sun, pina colada, coconut aromas, palm trees and a specific Mexican waiter by the name of Manuel. I dreamt of this as water poured out of the heavens upon us, as if God himself had developed diabetes insipidus. Eskimoes have over twenty words for snow. I have over twenty curses for rain. As we left the Prinz Luitpold Haus, the rain was blowing horizontally, and it was like diving into a swimming pool. I had not ever considered bringing skiing goggles on this trip, which would have been useful yesterday, let alone an umbrella which might have been of some use today. I had surmised during trip equipment planning that an umbrella would most likely result in a MaryPoppin's equivalent maiden voyage after a brief gust of wind, breaking both the umbrella and myself upon landing. Yet even this most drastic of devices might have lent some utility to today's efforts. My mouth functioned as the filter in a pool, cleansing the ra
in water that entered my body, of all manner of weeds, twigs, bird parts, newts, dirt, and other nasty things. It rained all day, all night, and will continue to do so ad infinitum, if the weatherman is to be believed.
We had heard that the day was to improve somewhat therefore had a leisurely breakfast prior to departure a couple of hours after when we normally would. I noticed that the hiking group from the table next to us had hastened to an early departure. They were led by of all things a Nepalese gentleman, apparently slumming it in the Alps. He must have surmised something about today's weather that the weatherman had not, as the only time of the day with any clearing of the rain, was as we ate our leisurely breakfast. The hut's occupants also included a rowdy bunch of Belgian youths with whom I tried to pick a fight, but my inadequate flemish left me always the butt of the joke. They had apparently camped out the night before in tents, which proves to me that I am not the most stupid person in the mountains by a long shot.They awoke to dig themselves out of the snow, and thus had very wet gear. They had filled the drying room of the hut with this wet morass of materials, overwhelming the
capacity of the room, and so in the morning none of our stuff was dry either. There is no worse way to start a day of hiking than in wet clothes, other than perhaps naked or frostbitten. I hide my disappointment with a breakfast of pork, and plan to order veal at the next rendered opportunity.
Was it a dream? Had the 4 male owners/employees of the Prinz Luitpold Haus given certain metrosexual signals as they dutifully served the hut's customers? There were certainly no female employees visible. Did I have a Borat experience of wrestling with four young men upon wet Belgian tents in the middle of the night? Was it a dream....
Tomorrow I am promised another rest day. I will braid an escape rope from my own leg hair, and lower myself down off this Alp if the rain continues.
