One evening in Salzburg, Austria, Ryan and I were enjoying a frothy bier in a dark, rambunctious bar when we overheard some talk about a lil’ place called Fucking. Having the sense of humor of a 13-year-old boy, my ears quickly perked up and the Liz Lemon in my head said, “I want to go to there”. Over and over and over and over.
So go to there we did. It was a long journey to say the least (train ride + 6 miles on foot + a sweet lil old lady giving us a short lift), but we made it. And it was glorious. Oh, was it glorious.
Fucking is a tiny, tiny farming town with less than 100 people. A lucky Fucking bunch, I say! The rolling hills, apple trees, corn fields, and sunny sky made the journey a lovely Fucking experience.
Now, no more Fucking. Ya hear?