The night of the symphony Casey and I both slept somewhat fitfully, since it was our last for a long time in each other's company. Despite the moderate trials of such close living quarters for so long, we had of course come to rely utterly on eachother.

But the next morning, early, I slipped away in the pre-dawn light and, weighed down by my ever-growing backpack, boarded a train towards my next chapter, leaving Casey to board that night the train to his next chapter. About his adventures he will hopefully write soon, but from that moment, at 7AM on January 31st, our paths part until a distant future date. But the train, which was due to leave at 7:30, left at 7:31, with typically germanic efficiency, and I was off, out of Vienna, speeding from Wien Westbanhof across the snow covered country side and up into the alps. The journey was uneventful (save for a panicked dream where everything went wrong, I missed my stop, lost my violin, and couln't find my destination) and peaceful, but lonely. It was immediately clear that this new independence was going to be much more of a curse than a blessing. I arrived in Innsbruck, a major transit center of a city, and tried to find the bus or train to my destination. This was utterly chaotic, as my German is very limited. I finally found the right train, had to wait two hours, then missed it, then the bus, but it was the wrong one, and finally, 4 hours after my arrival in Innsbruck, I fell exhaustedly into the correct bus and tried in vain to take my mind off my upcoming arrival by listening to Rimsky-Korsakov's Sheherezade.

The bus climbed up long winding roads into the mountains. Having been travelling for 10 hours, I arrived in the tiny little village at 5PM and looked around, with a strange mixture of relief, anticipation, nervousness, and nausea.

So where am I and why (I have asked myself this fairly often since I got here). I am in a town called Ehrwald in the Austrian Alps. It is a tiny village, primarily a ski resort town. It is quaint and picturesque and utterly perfect. I came here one summer with my family so I vaguely recognized it. The entire town is essentially run by one family (The Leitner Family) a dynastic chain of super-strong personalities who run the main hotel, the ski resort, the ski school, the cafe, the jewelry store, the ski rental store, and the sports equipment store. So essentially everything. The Stubbs' have been coming here for decades, and Denys (the grandfather whose spirit so completely fills White House, where we started our journey) was a bit of a legend here as the resident Brit. Anyhow the Stubbs' and Leitner's developed a friendship and a bit of a connection and the two Leitner boys came and worked on White House farm when they were 18. Then, when my dad and his brother were 18 and 16, they came and worked in Ehrwald for the Leitners. It became a bit of an exchange and a tradition. Well, despite the fact that the main contacts have all passed on (my grandparents and many of the elder Leitners) I decided to attempt to continue this tradition. So they (the two Leitner boys, who are now the heads of the dynasty and the town) offered me a job here (as a ski teacher, apparently no problem despite the fact that I cannot speak German or ski). And so here I am, in the Kirchplatz in the center of town after a long day of travel. I vaguely recognize the town but I don't know anyone in it, or what my place in it is (if I have one).

I go into Intersport Leitner, my imminent employers, and ask for the woman I have been emailing. She arrives, and is clearly confused. It slowly becomes apparent, in broken English and German, that she thought I was a girl (Percy is not a super common German name. It is not a very common name anywhere, in fact, so her mistake is forgivable). So the room and roommate that await me are no longer fitting and everything has to be rearranged and it is already very late in the evening and everyone is tired and confused. But I am given various papers in German telling me how things works, handed a bright red skiing uniform, introduced to 30 different people, and told to report for work at 9 the next morning at the Ski School. Then I am shown to my room, in an apartment complex specifically for the ski teachers. I spend a couple hours translating the various papers with the help of my German dictionary and end up thoroughly confused and unenlightened. I go out to the supermarket to find myself confused but being a tiny village market it has closed hours ago. So I am hungry now, as well as lonely and lost. No sooner do I return to the apartment than I realize that my key doesn't work. So I go to the local hotel (run, of course, by the Lietner's) and ask for a replacement key. Then I go back and find that the replacement doesn't work either. Exhausted and lonely, lost, confused, locked out, hungry, and fairly miserable, despite the strength that I am still trying to retain from last night's (so long ago!) Mahler experience, I feel ready to collapse. But instead I return to the Hotel and ask for Another key. As I am being handed it a voice hesitantly asks me, "Stubbs? Is das Stubbs?" It is, of course, Mr. Leitner, who runs this incredibly fine and fancy hotel and has somehow determined who I am. He, unlike his brother, speaks very little English, so after communicating that I am a Stubbs and that he remembers working at Whitehouse and how is Denys (not so well) and how is Margaret (same) our conversation draws to a close. But then he insists that I have dinner at the hotel, for an instant my lips form the standard polite, "no i couldn't possibly" but then I accept the gracious hospitality and nod excitedly.

The episode that starts here saves the night. From miserable and cold and hungry I am transformed into content, full, warm, and surrounded by light and people. The food and service is totally world class. I feast on various cold meats and salads for starters, followed by a delectable soup that washes away all the trials of the day (which already seem incredibly trivial), and then a plate heaped with mashed potatoes and succulent slices of duck. I guzzle a whole bottle of icy sparkling water and finish the meal with a massive delectable cake and a coffee. Throughout, I am surrounded by the buzz of a full restaurant, full of people and dozens of children (the hotel is famously child-friendly, so it is full of them) who are on holiday and are bronzed and weary but jovial from skiing. It is a bit strange to eat alone at a fancy restaurant, but not by any means insufferable, and my overwhelming feeling is one of joy and amazement at the ability to move so far, so rapidly. Looking back over the last few nights, from a symphony to a party with English kids in Vienna to the many strange wonders of Budapest and Prague and on and on. And all in so little time. I look at myself, and my surroundings, and I think: Look at me! Look at what I can do! I can move. I can see a lot. And be a lot.

I walk back through the snow to the apartment house and climb the long staircase to my room. I have a big, comfortable, private room, and I collapse into bed in utter bliss, warm and full and here. Now. In a new place. Alone, but ready.