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Paolo Does Europe - Sept. 18 - THE FINAL ENTRY

Starbucks saved me. I got into the airport last night at 10:30 p.m. -- approximately 12 hours before my flight departs. I figured I'd just sleep at the airport rather than go to a hostel for half a night. I've had a bad overnight at an airport before (last year at JFK, going to Greece), but decided to stick it out.

I wandered around the empty airport looking for a place to sleep -- a bench, or a row of chairs without armrests. Lo and behold, I went downstairs and encountered a closed Starbucks. Outside the Starbucks were large, softly padded love seats under Starbucks-green umbrellas. After some fidgeting and rearranging, I finally just grabbed the cushions off the couch and set-up a nice bed for myself on the floor and cozied up to my travel pillow in my travel blanket. I actually got a decent six hours of sleep before the airport woke up. That was more than I could have hoped for.

Sure, I've had some choice words about Starbucks in the past, mostly because I'm spoiled by Katrine's yummy Fiore coffee, but now I have a little more respect for Starbucks. I doubt I'll like their acidic coffee any more, but I do give them props for leaving me some comfortable furniture to crash on my last night in Europe.

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I depart in just a couple hours now, and this is my last entry. I kind of imagined myself going off to some other continent annually to get my fix of the world. I imagine coming back in 50 years, retired, part of a large group touring Europe's major landmarks, museums and churches.

That was until just about an hour ago when I lined up behind a large group of retired Americans dangling dog tags from their necks that say their respective names and "Collette Vacations." I followed them in the nearest cafe. Upon ordering, they just opened up their hands, full of coins of various currencies, and told the cashier to take what she needed. No effort to count. No effort to seperate currencies. Just open hands and the kind of disgusted look as if a St. Bernard had just drooled on their hands.

I contently ordered a delish apple danish and cappuccino and sit now at a table across from them. They complain immediately about the food portions. Too small, no meat, they say. What'd they'd give to have a big homemade Texas breakfast with steak, eggs and gravy.

I know they're good, genial people, but I don't think I'll be traveling with that big group in 50 years. No dog tags for me. I think I'll stick to traveling just as I have this time -- a little language prep, a backpack and an on-the-go schedule. And I'll be at it 50 times in between now and then, just for practice.

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Editor's Note: Thanks everyone, for tolerating this prolonged travel journaling. I hope you enjoyed it. I'll do it again in 2008. Now to flip the coin between South America and New Zealand... If you'd like to look at the various pictures I've published throughout this series, just click here.

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Setting: Paolo and Moos sit and chat over coffee at Cafe Fiore in Ballard early in the morning before work. Paolo's having a rough start after sleeping through his alarm and rushing to get ready for the day.

Paolo: "I think my problem with waking up is my lighting situation. The light bulbs in the touch-lamp next to my bed are out. Usually I wake up to my alarm and tap it three times --"

Moos: "-- That's what she said."

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Breaking news: The legendary Crocodile Cafe has closed after more than 15 years.

According to the Seattle Times, owner Stephanie Dorgan called employees yesterday, letting them know she had changed the locks and they could pick up their personal belongings today. After learning they had lost their jobs, Croc employees maintained the spirit and allegedly got together to party all night.

Name a major Seattle band -- Nirvana, Sunny Day Real Estate, Band of Horses, Modest Mouse, Death Cab for Cutie -- They all played the Croc. No doubt, the Croc was a staple venue for the local music scene.

Some key quotes:

"I think it's a blow to the scene. Part of the side effect of the mayor's downtown development plan, which seems to have no room for live music in it. The Croc is an institution. At the same time, things change, and keeping a venue open as long as the Croc has been, through all the changes the music scene has been through, is a very difficult job. I feel for any club owner trying to make it in Seattle." -Dave Meinert, music promoter for Blue Scholars and Common Market

"It's one of the landmarks of music in this city... That place is Seattle music." -KEXP DJ John Richards

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Today I went skiing for the first time. Basically, I killed it.

Courtney told me, "Paolo, I can't wait to take you skiing because it's the one thing I know I can beat you at." Well, sorry Courtney. Try again.

I took a run at the Bunny Hill (red line on the map) and had no problems. Scott thought I was ready to ski the "real" slopes, so we took the chairlifts up and I learned the ropes on Queen's Run (yellow line on the map). Scott's mom, Cassandra, is a long-time ski instructor and she gave me some pointers. I felt good. I fell only occasionally and demonstrated that natural athleticism is the gift that keeps on giving.

My legs did get REALLY sore midday. Learning to carve combined with the shape of those unfamiliar ski boots took its toll. I let Scott know that I was going to take my last run all the way to the bottom of the mountain. Halfway through Queen's Run, Scott guided us across to Quiksilver, which was only partially open and extremely narrow. We instead took a closed route parallel to Quiksilver(blue line on the map), and that sucked. It was deep, uneven, and I could hardly get through it. I fell often, and by this time my legs were giving out and my upper body was wearing from having to lift myself up from falls. I got to the bottom of the hill eventually, but got one hell of a workout.

Now I can hardly walk, am extremly sore everywhere and look forward to skiing next weekend!