Arrival in a foreign country all alone felt like it always does to me -- in this case exacerbated by sleep deprivation from a train trip from Paris that was delayed by a full 8 hours and was filled with drunk Germans who were having singing duels. My first emotion was: "Wow, I am so alone" followed instantly by panic.

Ten years ago, this panic was fairly paralyzing, requiring a constant recitation to myself of "You can do this, you can do this, all you have to do is one step at a time. First things first, get some money. Ok that was easy, see? Now find yourself a taxi. . ." These days the panic is not nearly so bad, but the vague aloneness is still fairly pervasive.

.. . . which is why upon arrival at my hotel (which fortunately, as promised, is a beautiful, historic building with 20 foot high ceilings, and tiled walls in the hallways. And which unfortunately, as promised, has rooms that themselves are fairly hostel-like, read: thin cots for beds, no phones, and two peices of falling-apart, blond Nordic furniture, with the bathrooms down the hall) the first thing I did was find the closest Internet Cafe. A mere block and a half away, sitting down to a computer terminal, at the rate of 1 Koruna (3 cents) per minute, I realized that all would be well. I was officially tapped in, connected, and most importantly very much not alone.

And this gave me the necessary fortitude to do what a girl's gotta do: I left the cafe for the nearest beauty and bath store and bought several nice-smelling candles, bottles of luxurious facial supplies to pamper myself, and, crucially, a new pair of flip flops to wear in those public bathrooms.