Landing in Frankfurt, I grabbed my backpack from the baggage claim and made my way to the train station where I climbed onto the next train to Munich. As an American who was only used to driving anywhere, I had a steep learning curve of the European rail system ahead of me.

I made my way onboard and into one of the cars where I saw what looked like nametags above each seat. Not knowing enough German to ask anyone, or expecting them to know enough English, I assumed each seat was reserved by someone who had booked ahead.

Without a seat of my own, I stood in the car's entryway, alternating between sitting on the floor and leaning against a partition. Stepping onto the platform at each stop allowed me to be out of the way as others climbed on or off. It also let me see something of the country, since my only view came from the door's narrow panes and not the large windows at each seat.

In Munich, I searched out a ticket office, hoping to make the next leg of my journey less uncomfortable. Unfortunately the train I thought was mine, wasn't; a mistake I only realized soon after we started moving. After a strained conversation with the conductor and a couple of elderly passengers who helped translate, I learned that my only hope would be to go back to Munich and take another train into Salzburg.

I stepped off at the next stop, the small lakeside town of Starnberg, and searched to find a schedule where I could learn what platform I needed and how long the right train would arrive. With more than an hour to kill, and nothing better to do, I walked towards the lake and took my first photos of the journey, thankful for the beautiful little detour.

It was around 6 pm when I walked out of the Salzburg Hauptbahnhof, but it had been dark for an hour already. Having the foresight to print out maps and directions to each hostel during my week in Charlotte, I navigated my way to the night's lodgings and checked in, thankful that they had my reservation and that I hadn't made another scheduling mistake.

Hours later, I lay awake in my bunk unable to sleep. It could've been jet lag, being 6 hours ahead of the east coast, but it was more due to intense heat radiating from the wall next to me. A walk around the block, wearing no more than jeans and a t-shirt in the 30-degree temps, helped to cool me off. Combined with spending a few minutes writing down the day's adventure in a journal, I was finally able to get some sleep.