My trip to Hamburg begins like any good murder-mystery should, with my empty train pulling into a city shrouded in night and fog. I sorely regret not letting Rose talk me into buying that trench coat, and also the sad redundancy of the trusty steam-train. (Is it too much to ask for 80 years of technological regression to fulfill my sense of whimsy? I don't think so.)
I settle for sneaking off into the night, drinking a sneaky coffee, munching a sneaky pretzel, and checking in to my hostel in a most sneaksome manner. Yes, there's that much fog, and we all know that large fog concentrations chemically convert normally mundane actions into sneaky endeavors. Einstein said that, I'm sure.
It's quiet and cosy, and I take my customary walk-about the city the next day, through huge parks and ruined churches. With a huge amount of green space for somewhere so urban, I can't help but feel that this is a city to see in the springtime. Still, the persistent autumn mist adds some atmosphere, if not much warmth.
Evening approaches, and I have to change hostels, as my current one has been booked for the week by an accursed, screaming, writhing horde of children with the powers of fore-sight I so sorely lack. My new place isn't as welcoming, but it's big, and clean, and it has both a well-equipped kitchen and a hammock in the lounge, both of which are things I've decided I NEED in my life.
I'm settled into MY hammock, as it shall now be known, quietly reading my book and looking forward to an early night. The rest of the guests slowly filter off, until it's me and three chirpy Slavic types on the sofas. Deciding that I look a little lonesome, they proffer me some of their whiskey. Not in a shot glass. Not in a normal glass, with some of the coca-cola they have *right there*. Not even in an improvisational egg cup. No, it's a whole MUG, full to the brim with paint-thinning liquid brain-death. I thank them, take a nervous sip, and make to hand it back, but the look on the collective faces tells me that that is not how one behaves this night. So, I close my eyes, think of England, and throw the whole thing back, simultaneously earning a little cheer, and burning away all my taste-buds. My initiation is cemented by my actually knowing where Lithuania is, a rare thing, apparently. (The Eurovision Song Contest - excellent geographical education tool. That's what it's meant for, RIGHT? Right.)
The night quickly descends into a friendly drunken haze, as it seems the Lithuanian way of drinking is to sip anything non-alcoholic in tiny amounts, and down anything 40% proof like it's purest spring water. It's around 2am when Arturios and Thera excuse themselves to the room we're all sharing, and I follow suite fifteen minutes later, too happily tiddled to notice that A) Elias has opted to stay put, and B) one of our other roomies has made a rapid exit to the lounge. I trot up to our shadowy, but still-light-enough-to-see room and throw open the door. There's a lot of noise and movement and a stark silhouette against the window and OH GOD STOP HURTING HER!
I skitter back to the lounge as fast as my little legs will take me, to be comforted by Elias and new friend (Is it someone neeeeew?) Thorsten. And of course, ALL of the remaining alcohol, in a desperate attempt at memory purgation. It didn't work.
It's 4am before it's safe to go to sleep, and I snore through the groups departure in the most un-ladylike fashion. When I do crawl out of bed, I notice a rather traumatised-looking Australian who didn't manage to escape the nights show. I remember the exchange going vaguely thus...

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