Stop me if you’ve heard this one– an Indian, a Belarusian and Moldavian walk into a Casemate…

Well, we tried to anyway. But what did we know that a vast underground channel of caves carved into the stone, mountainous cliffs of Luxembourg (A.K.A. the Casemate du Bock) would be closed in the dead of winter? BUT, the giant metal chains and locks that prohibited our entry were nowhere near stronger than our will. So, of course we schemed and planned alternate approaches—identifying small stone stairs and side passages, or made our way back to up to street level, frogged it across the road, and attempted another descent through some dubious well-like structure. (Actually, come to think of it, it might’ve just been a converted steam hole.) Alas, to no available. My one and only tourist destination in the entire country was closed to visitors. It’s fine. Clearly made for a memorable day nonetheless, right?

So I guess, speaking of my day, let me start from the beginning. I got up at 4am local time in Brussels to walk over to the bus station. It was before sunrise, on a cold November morning, but I stood happily on line for the bus to arrive, probably teetering a little where I stood out of mind-numbing fatigue, but my barely-awake self was happy as a clam. I mean, I was heading to a bucket list destination, you see, and I still couldn’t believe it. Most people don’t think of Luxembourg as a #bucketlistdestination, and not that it was exactly that for me either, but it was someplace I’d heard of, seen pictures of, studied years and years ago, and never imagined I would see in my life. It the gravity of this realization was caffeinating my every muscle. I faced a four-hour bus ride ahead of me that, in addition to the brisk European winter, also included some rain. But I dared not close my eyes, even for a second, the entire bus ride. I couldn’t risk missing a single sight along the way. I will tell you this, when I travel, I have a “I’ll sleep when I’m dead” attitude. So, be prepared, if you ever travel with me… you best be catching second, third and even fourth winds.

Late morning, we arrive. Luxembourg City reminded me of any other mid-sized city, really. There was nothing spectacular to note, just my own awareness and excitement of being where I was. Like a tourist, I walked around, asked various Luxembourgers for directions. Hey, #DYK that most locals didn’t know how to get to their own damn landmarks? After the fourth or fifth “just keep walking and it’ll be right there, you’ll see it” (en Français), complete with vague hand gestures, I was like, ‘wait’. First of all, how do you just “see” a village in a valley appear in the middle of city bustle? I would imagine that some pretty deliberate, precise, steps and turns would need to be taken, especially with the absence of direction signs at street level. Whatever dude, Chemin de la Corniche was beckoning, so onward I went without pause. I finally did arrive there, and that was the right place to take pause. Yes, I was freezing my derrière off, yes I was exhausted, starving, even without proper cell reception up in—er, down in the valley, but my God was it worth to stand there, in the center of this walkway, deemed Europe’s most beautiful balcony, and just feel… I dunno… that I’d arrived. I remembered remembering when I believed I’d never view this sight IRL, that I was, still, somehow only looking a gorgeous 4-dimensional postcard or something- but no, it was real. The fact that, to this day, still feels like a dream.

I walked to and fro a bit, taking in the sights and the quaint nooks and crannies of the passage, marveling at the cliffside residences, wondering what interesting characters I might come across en route to the Casemate. But nada, it was pretty tame. I remembered thinking that, at this rate, I’d be done with this place in a couple hours, and had a whole day ahead before the bus ride home.

Enter: The Casemate Incident. And well, you all already know how that went.

Onto my next destination: Palais Grand-Ducal. I had heard about its intricate staircase and chandeliers and thought I could spend half the day walking around, soaking up the history and oooh, I wonder, do they have a little café on-sight where I could lose myself in a bottle of wine? Perhaps. Though I wouldn’t know. ‘Coz guess what, the palace was CLOSED! Turns out, tours are held exclusively in the summer, through the end of August.

Grrrr. Moving on.

By this time, I stopped caring that I wasn’t really getting anywhere in this incredible place. I was about to pass out from cold, fatigue and hunger. It was around lunchtime so I was sure I could find a nice café or steakhouse to park my keester and—you guessed it—go lose myself in a bottle of wine.

Wrong again!

Well, I will say this, at least all the cobblestone, small villagey-town look doesn’t get old. In fact, I think it may actually be the antidote to 'Hangry Rajni' (A.K.A. the brown werewolf). But I’m telling you, I circled that area lord knows how many times, determined to find ‘authentic’ Luxembourgish food only to find out that it doesn’t really exist. (Wowww, was I on a winning streak.) I mean, it exists, but nowadays everything is so modern and fusion everywhere that you’d be hard pressed to find traditional fare in the heart of any city.

In my quest for ‘super traditional’ traditional fare, where do I end up? At Go Ten, a modern Asian restaurant right across from the palace! (I was like, The Grand Duke digs pad thai?! sup?). The swanky bartender must’ve mistook me for some sort of homeless vagabond trying extra hard in my bejeweled jeans and cheap vinyl boots and took pity on me; he let me sit at the bar and was even nice to chat to about wine and travel. Interesting guy- Hungarian, travelled all over Europe and parts of Asia, lived and worked in UK for a bit. I told him NYC should be next on his list. It already was.

After enjoying half the establishment’s wines, I ventured off to explore the more modern neighborhoods of the city.

It was amazing to see giant Christmas decorations be put up against the majestic backdrop of a quaint European cliffside range. Echoes of its teutonic history were silently all around, yet every aspect in the forefront was unmistakably contemporary. The shopping district of Ville Haute, save for the lingering mideval airs, reminded me much of New York’s SoHo district, but less aggressive. Some shoppes I’d heard of before, some I hadn't.

Lost in my own thoughts as I turn a corner, I end up walking right into a peaceful protest for animal rights...

Urrrmm…. dudes? Your barrage of V for Vendetta masks don’t exactly scream ‘peaceful’.

…but I gotta tell ya, this chick I was talking to was nice as hell. In case you're interested, they are Anonymous for the Voiceless. Their whole thing was standing in solidarity against the cruelty to animals on industrial farms and promoting vegetarianism. She was so sincere and invested in what this organization is doing globally and we ended up talking for quite some time. When you stop to think about that, how youth all over the world can unite to stand against unethical or unjust practices, it can actually amaze you. It should.