Tomorrow I return to the land of Europe, to celebrate the wedding of Louise, a close friend of mine. She and her girlfriend are to wed in sunny Brussels. Prior to the wedding, Elijah, Andy and I are embarking on a half-mad, cock-a-mamie road trip from Brussels, through the Netherlands, Germany, and Denmark, to a tiny town in Sweden. Why the tiny town in Sweden? Andy has traced his ancestry to this town. Naturally, his small town Kansan relatives are excited at the prospect of his return to their roots, and are experiencing the visit vicariously through Andy. Elijah and I are along for the ride (and, well, to drive the car and help pay for the gas, of course).

Everyone whom we’ve told about our ambitious road trip plans seems to react with shock. “Driving? Why don’t you fly or take a train?” Taking a train is actually more expensive, as we found out (though not really if you’re traveling by yourself, of course). Oddly enough, flying is dirt cheap, due to the prevalence of budget airlines such as Ryanair - but there are complications and less freedoms open to us with that (one note: Louise sums up her experience with Ryanair - “the plane is made of wood!”).

Probably the real reason has to do with the fact that, by gum, we’re Americans. We’re used to stopping and going wherever we want, whenever. The endless, well-tended roads of the Autobahn await us, as well as the sparkling clean restrooms and the confusing road signs.

“You are taking me with you this time, right? Right?