50,000 words later, my 1985 European travelogue is finished. I think.

How many words are in a book? Estimates vary, though at the low end of the range, I'm close.

Perspective is a condition impossible to gauge without the passage of time. Given what we can see now about the way the world has changed since the Berlin Wall fell, those bits of Europe I saw in 1985 were considerably closer to 1945 than we are today, by comparison to 1989.

At least it seems that way to me.

Not a day passes without my being thankful for being able to commence my foreign travels in 1985, when a place like Leningrad (now St. Petersburg) wasn't merely located in a different country, but a different galaxy.

Sometimes I try to imagine an alternative reality, in which the European bug didn't bite. It's an American Dream sequence, filled with signposts from the sort of conventional family and professional life portrayed on the television shows we all grew up watching.

There was a time when I aspired to such a life, but it would have been a mistake. In fact, I can't even imagine this alternative reality, and in saying so, I'm not copping an attitude or being snobbish. I'm not implying that the way I turned out is better or worse than anyone else's path.

I always knew something about me was different, that's all. This was clear to me long before Europe entered the scene, and while much of it remains a mystery even after all this time, I know that whatever the nature of the itch, Europe enabled me to scratch it.

Enables.

---

AFTER THE FIRE: Euro ’85, Part 34 … The final chapter, in which lessons are learned and bridges burned.

THE POTABLE CURMUDGEON: Euro ’85, Part 33 … All good things must come to a beginning.

THE POTABLE CURMUDGEON: Euro ’85, Part 32 … Leaving Leningrad.

THE POTABLE CURMUDGEON: Euro ’85, Part 31 … Leningrad in three vignettes.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 30 … Or, as it was called at the time, Leningrad.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 29 … Helsinki beneath my feet, but Leningrad on my mind.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 28 … A Finnish detour to Tampere for beer and sausages.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 27 … Stockholm's blonde ambition, with or without mead-balls.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 26 … The Hansa brewery tour, and a farewell to Norway.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 25 … Frantic pickled Norway.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 24 … An aspiring “beer hunter” amid Carlsberg’s considerable charms.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 23 … A fleeting first glimpse of Copenhagen.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 22 … It's how the tulips were relegated.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 21 … A long day in Normandy, though not "The Longest Day."

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 20 … War stories, from neutral Ireland to Omaha Beach.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 19 … Sligo, Knocknarea, Guinness and Freddie.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 18 … Irish history with a musical chaser.

The PC: Euro '85, Part 17 ... A first glimpse of Ireland.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 16 … Lizard King in the City of Light.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 15 … The traveler at 55, and a strange interlude.

The PC: We pause Euro '85 to remember the Mathäser Bierstadt in Munich.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 14 … Beers and breakfast in Munich.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 13 … Tears of overdue joy at Salzburg's Augustiner.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 12 … Stefan Zweig and his world of yesterday.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 11: My Franz Ferdinand obsession takes root.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 10: Habsburgs, history and sausages in Vienna.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 9 … Milan, Venice and a farewell to Northern Italy.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 8 … Pecetto idyll, with a Parisian chaser.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 7 … An eventful detour to Pecetto.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 6 … When in Rome, critical mass.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 5 … From Istanbul to Rome, with Greece in between.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 4 … With Hassan in Pithion.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 3 … Growing up in Greece.

The PC: Euro '85, Part 2 ... Hitting the ground crawling in Luxembourg.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 1 … Where it all began.

_

My Euro '85 travel writing reboot is meandering toward a conclusion.

Weenies in Copenhagen.

It used to be a stock comedic gag that returning vacationers would force friends to view photos of their holiday, prattling for hours while the unfortunate victims plotted their escape routes.

This joke probably hasn't survived the advent of social media and ubiquity in communications, seeing as all our photos are available, all the time, for immediate viewing. Now we look to the exclusion of reading.

Upon returning stateside from my first European jaunt in 1985, I couldn't view my visual souvenirs right away. I'd taken slides, and had to get back to work first to amass the money necessary to develop them. Having done so, I staged numerous viewings with projector and screen. Beer was necessary in order to keep the audience fixed in their seats.

In a few months it will have been 31 years, and these reminders remain trapped; I've never gotten around to digitally transferring them, and the 40-year-old projection apparatus doesn't function properly. Your suggestions to inexpensively rectify my sloth are welcome.

In April of 2015 it occurred to me to pick up a ball I'd dropped in 2005, and to reboot the 1985 travel narrative. It had flared up briefly in 2009 during my tenure as newspaper guest columnist, then fizzled again.

Through all the weird changes of past months, I've kept chipping away at the travelogue. To date, 28 installments have been written (I guessed it would require 25), and three or four probably remain. Having written about the trip in other places and contexts over the years, this effort has represented the opportunity to weave it all together in one place.

The purpose isn't high art. It's really about me, and remembering a summer that permanently changed my life. Yes, it was only a three-month pleasure trip to Europe, and fairly inconsequential in the larger scheme of life. However, from ouzo to train travel and from urbanism to pickled herring, I've never been quite the same. My post-traumatic stress derives from where I continue to choose to live, not where I visited.

The chapters are being posted on or around Mondays at my Potable Curmudgeon blog. Part 29 might be ready the day after tomorrow, though I doubt it.

Here are the links to date.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 28 … A Finnish detour to Tampere for beer and sausages.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 27 … Stockholm's blonde ambition, with or without mead-balls.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 26 … The Hansa brewery tour, and a farewell to Norway.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 25 … Frantic pickled Norway.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 24 … An aspiring “beer hunter” amid Carlsberg’s considerable charms.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 23 … A fleeting first glimpse of Copenhagen.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 22 … It's how the tulips were relegated.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 21 … A long day in Normandy, though not "The Longest Day."

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 20 … War stories, from neutral Ireland to Omaha Beach.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 19 … Sligo, Knocknarea, Guinness and Freddie.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 18 … Irish history with a musical chaser.

The PC: Euro '85, Part 17 ... A first glimpse of Ireland.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 16 … Lizard King in the City of Light.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 15 … The traveler at 55, and a strange interlude.

The PC: We pause Euro '85 to remember the Mathäser Bierstadt in Munich.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 14 … Beers and breakfast in Munich.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 13 … Tears of overdue joy at Salzburg's Augustiner.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 12 … Stefan Zweig and his world of yesterday.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 11: My Franz Ferdinand obsession takes root.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 10: Habsburgs, history and sausages in Vienna.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 9 … Milan, Venice and a farewell to Northern Italy.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 8 … Pecetto idyll, with a Parisian chaser.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 7 … An eventful detour to Pecetto.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 6 … When in Rome, critical mass.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 5 … From Istanbul to Rome, with Greece in between.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 4 … With Hassan in Pithion.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 3 … Growing up in Greece.

The PC: Euro '85, Part 2 ... Hitting the ground crawling in Luxembourg.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 1 … Where it all began.

Warning: The "Street Cuisine" blog will make you hungry, as with the pølsevogn in Copenhagen.

Photo credit: Street Cuisine.

As accompaniment to the most recent installment of my 1985 European travelogue ...

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 23 … A fleeting first glimpse of Copenhagen.

... here's amore in-depth look at the phenomenon of the Danish pølsevogn, which is far, far more than your grandpa's weenie wagon.

The Danish Pølsevogn at Street Cuisine

Hotdogs and hotdog stands are popular almost everywhere, but I don't think anywhere takes the concept of sausage and bread as seriously as the Danes. A Danish hotdog stand called a pølsevogn can be found on almost any major street or torv in Denmark. Much larger and more involved than a typical North American hotdog cart, the pølsevogn is more like an outdoor mobile kitchen along the lines on an imbiss in Germany.

The Street Cuisine blog is amazing, but you may wish to eat first.

The Euro '85 travel writing reboot.

It used to be a stock comedic gag that returning vacationers would force friends to view photos of their holiday, prattling for hours while the unfortunate victims plotted their escape routes.

This gag probably hasn't survived the advent of social media and ubiquity in communications, seeing as all our photos are available all the time for immediate viewing. Now we look, and we don't read.

Upon returning stateside from my first European jaunt in 1985, I couldn't view my visual souvenirs right away. I'd taken slides, and had to get back to work first to amass the money necessary to develop them. Having done so, I staged numerous viewings with projector and screen. Beer was necessary in order to keep the audience fixed in their seats.

It's been 30 years, and these reminders remain trapped; I've never gotten around to digitally transferring them, and the 40-year-old projection apparatus doesn't function properly. Your suggestions to inexpensively rectify my sloth are welcome.

Three months ago, I decided to pick up a ball I'd dropped in 2005 by rebooting the 1985 travel narrative. It flared up again in 2009 during my tenure as newspaper guest columnist. If I manage to finish this time, there'll probably be close to 25 installments. Having written about the trip in other places over the years, this represents the opportunity to weave all of it together in one place.

The purpose isn't high art. It's really about me, and remembering something that changed me forever. It was just a three-month trip to Europe, and fairly inconsequential in the larger scheme of life, and yet I've never been the same.

The chapters are being posted on or around Mondays at my Potable Curmudgeon blog. Part 12 is due tomorrow.

---

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 11: My Franz Ferdinand obsession takes root.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 10: Habsburgs, history and sausages in Vienna.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 9 … Milan, Venice and a farewell to Northern Italy.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 8 … Pecetto idyll, with a Parisian chaser.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 7 … An eventful detour to Pecetto.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 6 … When in Rome, critical mass.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 5 … From Istanbul to Rome, with Greece in between.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 4 … With Hassan in Pithion.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 3 … Growing up in Greece.

The PC: Euro '85, Part 2 ... Hitting the ground crawling in Luxembourg.

The PC: Euro ’85, Part 1 … Where it all began.