Day 31 -- Back to Rome.

The wake up call woke me at 7 A.M. in order to be on my way at eight. The flight was at 10:30 a.m., and since there was a twenty-six minute distance from the hotel to the airport, leaving at eight seemed fine.

Downstairs at check out I got directions from Mr. Concierge, which I was able to follow, that is until I got to the circle that connected to various exits, four to be exact. Once in the circle I could not remember which way the sign said, and there were no other signs around. So, I chose a way and apprehensively drove. As I rolled down a road that lead to a highway, I decided it was the wrong way. I stopped, K-turned, and drove back towards the circle. The fact the I was driving the wrong way down or up a one way, excited, rather then bothered me. Is that wrong?

As I drove around the circle, around, and around, I could not positively place which turn I had previously taken. Which way! I thought. As I looked at the time, I started to laugh a little, this being yet another style then the norm of losing it. I chose an exit. Surprise! It was the same exit I had cursed at twelve minutes earlier. Another K-turn, yet this time there was an oversized truck headed in my direction, so I moved over to the shoulder, making room for him. (Remember my car: half the size of a VW Bug) As we slowly crossed paths Mr. Trucker started to provoke me by honking his horn, while making gestures at me as if he could right my unhinged mind. My response, screaming "Callat," as I shook my fist at him.

Again the circle, again driving around it. I was going to miss my plane again due to being trapped in some episode of the 'Twilight Zone.' Other exits read no entry, and another lead a way that just didn't look right. Could the initial wrong way be the right way? Yes, I found that it most certainly can as I slowly drove it onto a highway and saw assuring airport signs. How embarrassing.

After returning the rental keys, (Yes, I was fined due to forgetting to refill the stupid gas tank) I stood in line with boarding pass in hand. When it was my turn to heave my bad onto the scale for check-in, I was told that my bag was eight pounds over, that I had to pay an extra 60 Euro for the extra weight. Well, I said absolutely not as I rolled the bag over, unzipped, and commenced taking items out. The following 10 minutes went:

Me: "How about now?" (As she weight the weight)

Mss. Puta: "No is still too heavy."

Me: "Now?" (Pulling out two pairs jeans)

Miss. Puta: "No not yet."

Me: "Now?"

Miss Puta: "Listen Miss -- Could you go to the side and do this -- There are people waiting."

Me: "Um no I can't go over to the side. I'm going to miss my plane because of this! (Bra in hand) What about now?"

Miss Puta: "No - is still too heavy, I'm sorry but I will have to call security if you do not move to the side."

I stand there and stare at her as if I were attempting to vex her.

Me: "Fine!" I got over to the side & opened the entire bag. I started to pull things out like a mad woman. My belongings were strewed all about --I ditched a pair of jeans, (They weren't mind anyway, sorry Jenna) & I tried to separate the heavier items from the not so heavy items. I shoved half of my belongings into a plastic bag - of course it didn't fit -- The thing was over flowing. I approached a young looking guy, bra still in hand, and requested to cut him, because I was about to miss my flight. He allowed me to go head -- Thank God.

When it was my turn sour Miss. Puta weighed my bag and said: "No, is still too heavy."

Me: "What do you mean it's too heavy! The bag is half empty! How much is it over?"

Miss Puta, "It is over by 1.2."

Me: "Really, you won't let me go over 1.2!"

Miss Puta: "Fine, go, you can go." (She stamped my boarding pass)

Me: "Yeah- Thanks."

I turn to the guy behind me, "Thank you so much."

The Guy: "No problem, you seem stressed," he said this as he looked at the bra in my hand.

I followed his eyes and said, "That is an understatement. So, where are you headed?"

The Guy: "Rome."

Me: "And you let me go ahead! You should be rushing too!"

The guy: "Yup." (Smiles)

Me: "Okay you go do your thing, I'll see you at the gate."

At this point I ran -- ran through security -- then to the gate. There was a long line of persons, and for some reason I thought: Cut in front of them, they must be from the next flight. Why I thought this I don't know, but I ran in front of the snake of people. The airline attendant gave me a puzzled look, and asked what I was doing. I told him that I was there for the Rome flight. He said, "All of these people are here for the Rome flight." I said, "O, I guess I'll go to the back of the line then." He nodded in agreement.

As I waited for boarding the Guy came over and introduced himself as Beykan, it's pronounced Bacon. I enjoyed this very much. We talked our way onto the plane and sat together. He had a friend -- but he went his own way. I took out my magnetic chess board and we played as we talked about our travels. He and his friend were traveling Europe for months. This trip for him was a last burst of freedom for him, since he was about to go into army for the next two or so years. Due to Beykan being Turkish, it was his unavoidable obligation to join army, all Turks are subject to it. I knew this of Israel, but not of Turkey. The thought of being forced into serving for the army is quite unsettling, since I feel trapped during a two hour lecture in a class room. So, that makes one point for the US.

Back to Beykan -- I checkmated him, it was a slaughter. (Love you Beykan) Haha. But what was more important is that each time the plane shook we held hands and squeezed. He squeezed harder which lead me to believe he was more frightened then I was. In actuality I wasn't frightened at all, I enfolded his fingers through mine to share the moment, nothing more. I had come a long way from the hysterics from the London bound flight.

Once we go to Rome, we exchanged information with hopes of meeting that night or the next. Unfortunately that did not happen. But forgetting you is something I choose not to do -- Here's proof Sucka.


Back to Smiling.

Day 30 Part II

Ha here we go.

Barcelona or Girona -- Where to go? The little voice said, you already saw Barcelona, lets see what Gerona has. So, Gerona it was. How can I express how much fun it was to cut people off as if I were home? Shortly after reclaiming my senses I realized the car was lagging, which reminded me of the first day I drove my new car on the emergency break for many hours. After pulling over and sitting in silence for four minutes I decided everything was okay since there was no burning rubber stench in the air. When I attempted to switch the car back on -- No power -- There was nothing. Haha. How fun. I couldn't even turn the key. I tried and tried, to no avail. I looked about, it wasn't a deserted area. But was it welcoming, touristy? Not in any sense.

O - well, I thought as I collected my purse then headed towards these two electrician looking men up the road. Once I reached them it was,

"Ola Por favoro me ayúdeme, El carro" as I pointed to the car down the way.

One of them said, "Mecánico?"

Me: "Si! Si!"

Both men pointed diagonally across the road to a rather large auto garage.

Me: "Ha I promise you I'm more intelligent then this."

They smiled, shrugged, and nodded.

Me: " Okay ...Gracias! Ciao!"

When I reached the garage I met with Mr. Auto. I started to explain the el carro story -- but the man simply shook his head no and crossed the street, leaving me there on my own. This infuriated me very much. Stronzo! When I crossed back over the electrician guys told me it was siesta time, they also said a few other things, but I could not hear over the shouting in my head. Effing siesta! Superb.

On the walk back to the car I spotted three men emerging from a restaurant, ran to one of them, and started talking. It went a like this: Me ayúdeme carro! And guess what folks? He paused from his life to help. He returned with me to the car, got it to run, and showed me what I did wrong. Beautiful Spaniard! I hugged him thanks, much to his surprise and went on my way.

Once I got to Gerona I parked near a large city park, entered, sat near a mossy fountain, and wrote in my journal. My head ached from the highs and lows. I had no idea as to where I was going to stay. I thought, at worst, I could sleep in the car. Then I scribbled, "Food," then did something of it.

The waitress at the restaurant at which I dined lead me to the Internet cafe and Paul. (If that were only his name - Yeah I can't remember it.) Paul was a young guy who was visiting family in Gerona for the summer. He said he was twenty-two, yet he looked nineteen. He wouldn't show me his id so he was most likely younger than that. We made friends, he helped me with the Spanish computer. I booked my flight for Rome the next day. That was one worry down, and one more to go.

I asked him where the beach was. All though the responsible thing would be to plan where I would be lying my head that night, my head thought that the beach would be a better idea. He said it was hard to tell, but he could show me. At which point, I said, "Want to go to the beach?" Of course he said yes.
So, off to the car we went. (I know I know taking strange boy to car = stupid move. In my defense clear thoughts had vanished from my mind hours ago, way back at the airport.)

On the ways out of town I spotted a market, and realized I need tampons! Since I thought this as we passed the market, we had to circle around the block to get back to it. In the midst of circling a truck materialized blocking the road ahead. I really had no patience for it, looked around, and drove up on the sidewalk and around the truck at which point Paul called me, "the Mafia"? I laughed and told him I was worse.

There was no parking in front or near the market, but there was a parking garage close enough whici I drove down into. Once down there, Paul said, "This is a hotel."

I said, "O yeah, lets see if I can get a room."

There is no doubt in my mind. The boy had to think I was nuts. He probably hoped for it, hoped in his boyish mind that something rated R might sprout from all this.

We took the elevator up. I said hello at the concierge counter and asked the price of a single room. Mr. Concierge said a price. Paul said, "Is too expensive." I said, "Don't worry. Can I see the room?"

The three of us took the elevator up, walked a lavishly long hallway, and entered the room. I looked at the bedroom, the king sized bed, the large windows, the bath. I said, "I want it." (Let me explain for a moment. When things commence to heat up I will always throw the plastic at the fire instead of yours truly. I know what your thinking. Why not simply pay the 250 ticket at the airport - I guess it just wasn't hot enough for me to do that just yet.)

After handing over my card I told Paul it was a pleasure meeting him, but I didn't want to go to the beach anymore. Rest was what I needed. He looked puzzled as he left. When he was gone I told Mr. Concierge that if Paul were to return that I did not want to be disturbed. (There was something about his willingness to obey throughout the whole ordeal that caused me to feel unease.)

Once alone in my room, I took a long long shower. After that I went to Mango and bought a dress. Then I closed the night dining alone at the hotel restaurant with a book. At last, peace.

Day 30

This day.

At morning time Roeland and I had to part. He was flying back to Belgium and I to Rome. As we were waiting for my bus Roeland gave me his sweater which I took to wearing In Belgium, since It was chiller there than what I was prepared for. I find that open ended good-byes are difficult, not knowing when, or if you will see a person next is not an easy thing to deal with. I said ciao through tears and did the whole watch him get smaller as the bus drove further away. I know sad. (Roeland's Passport:)

Once I got to Girona airport, I stepped in line to deal with the ticket business. You see, Roeland and I missed our flight the previous day in order to run around Barcelona a plus day. We rented a go cart type vehicle, explored the Guelle Park, then did the beach at night where a few odd fellows tried to sell us drugs. U-turning back to the point; Roeland purchased another ticket so there would be no problem when flight was needed. I on the other hand said, "Phhhf please, buy another ticket? I don't think so. I'll talk my way on with this ticket." (The ticket from the previous day)

When it was time to plead my cause I told Ms. Flight Agent that I had to miss my flight the previous day. That it just could not be helped and was there any way that I could get onto that day's flight. She said yes, for 250 Euro. At which point I had a slight melt down that went like this:

Me: "250 Euros! How is that possible?" (RyanAire flights are cheapppp.)

Ms. Flight Agent: "I'm sorry but it's a last moment flight. If you want to fly today that is how much you will have to pay." (Spanish accent)

Me: "Is there anyway we can use this ticket as a credit and I can pay the rest?"

Ms. Flight Agent: "I'm sorry..."

Me: "Seriously there are empty seats on these flights all the time! You're telling me I have to pay 250 Euro for an empty seat?"

Ms. Flight Agent: "These are the rules. I'm sorry...If you wanted to fly tomorrow you would only have to pay 80 Euro."

Me: "I have no where to go!" (code red desperation)

Ms. Flight Agent: "There's a hotel up the street. They have internet there. You can go there and print your ticket because it will cost you another 40 Euro if you do it here."

I stared at her for some time to be sure she was not kidding. Nothing.

Me: "Kay, I guess that's what I'll do. Thanks."

When I arrived at the shoddy airport hotel there were no vacancies, so I decided that returning to the airport was the most logical plan. As I walked in the 100 something degree weather, carrying and pulling my luggage, I became heated. When I got back to the airport I waited to speak specifically with my Ms. Flight Agent. Others passed me as I waited. When it was my turn to flail my arms I told her, "I went to the hotel down the road -- there are no vacancies. What am I to do now?" She patiently told me all of the same things, then added that there was another hotel further down the road. I thought, Fine! Fine! Fine!

Further down the road? What road? It was a highway! But what other choice did I have? I walked In the bloody sun in my leather boots down or up a highway, dragging bags along, as truckers honked their horns at me. When the airport became a bitsy dot and there was no hotel in sight, it was time to say aloud, "What the fuck am I doing!" Before I turned back.

At the third airport arrival I figured it best to eat something at the cafe before losing it any further. After lunch, I took to wandering about the airport until I saw a Hertz car rental. I mean, really saw it, I had priorly passed it without any balloon piercing notions. That was it, I would rent a car and that would save me. As elementary as that may sound that was all my head could produce at the moment. Car mean freedom from airport torture -- That's a more precise retelling of the epiphany.

After speaking to a lovely Spanish car rental woman and signing here, there, then there, I had the keys to a silver Smart car. I nearly cried. When I got to it, I had the most terrible time getting my bag into the back. I couldn't figure out how to open the trunk? But once everything was in, including myself, I put on the radio, and what came out was Katy Perry's, "Hot 'n Cold." I perceived this as a merry omen and blasted it as I sped out of that effing parking lot with no idea as to where I was going.

Day 29

After doing Spain for a while: El Canto, Elche, (the place of many palm trees) and Barcelona (Barcelona: too many college students) it was time to say Ciao to Roeland. O, yes that's right we did spain. I'll write a blurp about it before we move on:

"Leaving Antwerp, rushed and sad. I cried a few tears at 3:24 a.m. in Simon's VW Bug. What to say of Spain? It's dry and there is a slew of mountains about. For some reason I expected it to be greener. Yet, it's beautiful non the less." Okay enough I'm putting myself to sleep.

Onto the mania of this day. Actually the next day needs it's own space. I promise it does. ha

Tomorrow!

                                                      O, yeah. I went to the Burning Of The Statues festival at El Canto. And to a few other places that I really should have written about. Current date: 05/18/10 Those stories will only exist in my journal....

Day 28

Saturday I met with Kevin for breakfast. After doing that thing called eating we went to the Botanical Garden, (Yes it became my favorite) where we sang, 'Don't Call Me Baby,' due to the topic of our conversation. And I do not mean we hummed it. We effing sang it. He did quite well at the beat-boxing. I wish I could rewind this.

This is short, I know. But it is the most treasured part of that day. In this case, quality wins.

It's A Snow-Ball

Don't Thinks It

O
He
him.
Lost
locks,
aging
gently.
Balloon
piercing
unearthing
achievement.
Shhhhhhhhhhh.

Day 27

Journal:

"Wow four days without writing I must feel at home. I'm at Guylian Chocolate Cafe, where all of the elderly of Antwerp come for their coffees and sweets. Ha. Today I did chores. I took a bath, cooked my own lunch, did laundry. Yeah there is something wrong with that sentence. Go tomorrow? Go Wednesday?

Yesterday Roeland and I met Evy and Simon (Roeland's close friends) for breakfast. As we were finishing up I heard a scream - A child was hit by a car, whether the scream came from the child or one of the parents, I wasn't sure? I put my head down for an instant and prayed. Roeland asked the waiter if things were okay and if help was called. The waiter told him yes, an ambulance was on it's way & that it may not be too bad since the child was awake and crying. (This was definitly a humbeling moment. Flesh plus moving metal equals harm to us all. We tend to forget these things when life is grand or at least I do hence the last paragraph.)

Anyway, shortly after we arrived home, Evy called to see if we wanted to meet her and Simon again for drinks. Of course I said yes! They're a fun couple. We had fun exchanging stories. After drinks, pictures, and nearly skipping out on the bill -- I'm so annoyed that we didn't (the service was terrible) -- Roeland and I took off on his motorcycle. As the sun set we went to this old seaport village, Lilly for dinner. We ate at this bar/restaurant. The owners were running the food from their house horizontally across the way, there is no other way to describe it but home cooking. Initially I had my reservations about the shrimp concoction in a bread bowl, but quickly got over it after the first bite. It was perfect -- No other words. The evening I mean, not the food, all though that was very good as well.

The speedometer hit 170 kilometers on the way home. I had to hold onto Roeland with one arm and with the other keep the oversized helmet from flying off my head. Was it bad that I wanted to yell, 'Faster!' ? Incorrect punctuation? Forgive me.

Vanilla sky that night. It's important to remember the sky.

Written at Revista

The Botanical Garden

I found the pure garden as I was awake.

The Staad Antwerp -- Who knows if that is it's proper name? It was printed on the benches.

The male statue rising from the ground got me thinking that my life in the states may be over.

The Dutch speaking botanist plucked a green leaf and said, "Citron," as he handed it to me.

After he left I inhaled it's aroma and thought -- there will be a day when I own a Citron plant.

Lilly pads dotted with mauve flowers coast. Fishes - White - Orange & Gray. They quizzically stare. "I'm sorry, I don't have food for you."

The accordion player has followed me here. I wonder why. At the last locale my only form of payment was starring San pause for twenty-three minutes. The number of my fleeting age.

The fishes are calling. The same Dutch speaking Botanist offered me a look see in the sealed-up green house. This face tends to behave as a key.

When I was all in, he locked the door behind us. It was hot in that cacti green house.

I walked to the far end of a round table, placing a boundary between us.

He motioned to another locked room, one that traveled further into shady greenery.

Since I had gotten this far without being handled roughly, I thought it best to go back out where witnesses sat with their books.

Did I mention he has a scar? It started at his left nostril and completed it's path at the left ear. Precise facial scars are appealing when they aren't behind locked doors.

Back outside the citron gave me ideas on where to go next. Where to live for the next six years. The trickle of the pond sealed my fate.

We, my home and I will always be under the selfsame sky - Antwerp you are my Paris.

Day 26

Note Book: "I'm borrowing a Belgian's pen. And I'm really full. During this trip I have eaten like a true cow.

Anyway, yesterday I spent the day in Brussels. It started rocky, but evolved into a most perfect day. I purchased gifts for friends and myself. Then I found the town square by following the picture snapping Asians. The Asians are invariably going somewhere important.

According to Roeland witches were burnt at the town square. I met these two weird guys who bought me an ice tea. I tried on a blue wig and pretended I wanted to buy it. Then I went to Nui Nui, a chichi boutique and feigned interest there as I played dress up. In truth, I did like those overalls, but not enough to spend 180 Euro on them and I would probably never wear them at home. Who am I trying to kid -- I would wear them, I'm just trying to make myself feel better."

Since Roeland works in Brussels, I rode to work with him that day and ran around Brussels on my own. I think he was worried about leaving me alone. I told him I had no qualms about entertaining myself. There's always something to see in a new city, even if it's a lamp post. Yes, that's a private joke. No I'm not explaining it.

:)

Day 25

After putting the cat out in the courtyard Roeland and I took off walking towards breakfast & town. Antwerp is a small jewel, much of everything is at a walking distance. When we got to the Museum of the Beautiful Arts (Is it really called that? I don't know? It's how the locals referred to it.) Roeland pointed at a green apple and an egg atop the building that was large enough to feed poor deceased Goliath, and told me it was there to symbolize a past famine. Also in front of the museum was a pond-like fountain, it's water simulated the ocean's tide as it receded in and out. There was another building that he pointed out that appeared to have a ship protruding out of it. (Antwarp it was a seaport city long ago. )

When the last gulp of coffee was sipped at Revista Cafe we walked through the antiquing district. I stopped in a store and purchased a whittled wooded goldfish, that was made in Indonesia. (I had a difficult time finding items that were made in Belgium besides the chocolate.) Then we went to this small castle near the water front where Roeland told me a story about one of the eldest cathedrals.

The story goes: The cathedral caught on fire late in the night. The only persons near it were prostitutes, their customers, and their keepers, so they rallied on, ran in out of the burning building with paintings in hands to keep them from perishing. Amazing, no?

After this story there was talk about prostitutes and how they still haunted the same places except at present time, it's legal. Roeland asked if I was interested in seeing the prostitutes. Actually, I don't bloody remember how it came about but we left the small castle and headed towards Antwerp's red district.

Note Book talk: "I saw women selling their bodies through windows -- prostitutes attempting to tempt dirty men with odd outfits in daylight -- how lude."

I had wanted to take a photo or two of the whole ordeal but Roeland thought that a bad idea. We walked slowly through as I stared at these women, they tried to bid even me in. They seemed as if they were actresses in films they would never star in. They weren't existing as humans as we know humans to exist. It was surreal. How is this legal?

Book: "Then we got fries at #1 Frites. It was okay. Roeland ate his with Mayo, ew. At this point I became tired and requested to sit still for a while. I don't think he would have stopped otherwise. We talked of 9/11, exchanged points of views and experiences. As we were talking a band nearby started to play music from 'Mama Mia.' I could not contain myself. We made our way over there so I could take pictures and sing the lyrics that I knew. We stayed for three songs, I hollered and hooted them on. I screamed, "Yeah(!)" twice, something the Belgians do not generally do.

We then went on to the KBC (The company Roeland works for.) building, the first sky scrapper in Europe. He was able to finagle our way up to the top. I say finagle because there were important clients getting talked to up there already. Also, I'm told persons are to go up by invitation only. The views were spectacular. We saw all of Antwerp. All I could do was smile. The rude suit could not bother me. (The rude suit was a gentleman who accompanied us on the elevator up. When he realized I was an American from NJ he said, "They don't have anything like this in New Jersey, not even in California.") What a douche bag. Take your pointy noise out of your ass -- Please. Yes, I am completely aware that this makes zero sense. I'm venting.

Anyway, from KBC we went to a photo shop to download the current batch of pictures onto a CD. Instead of waiting the hour there, Roeland took me to the Central Station. Impressive.

After picking up the photos we went to Ben and Jerry's. Each of us ordered brownie sundaes. We took our dessert dishes to the museum steps & slowly ate there as we decided on what to do for dinner. In fin Roeland made 9:30 reservations for the 'Pump House.'

The 'Pump House': I can't say it was any more or less then expected because I went without expectations. What I will say is, when I looked down at the varying silver ware I couldn't help but feel like Julia Roberts in 'Pretty Woman.' I'm not referring to the prostitute part. I mean the part about starring at the silverware for two seconds and thinking, work your way in. My nerves settled quite shortly when the food arrived. So good. So good. So good. When things are mentioned in threes, it's my excited sign of approval.

Smile.

Day 24

Thank Heavens for a Journal.

"Hm is the sky clearing? I see blue peaking through in patches of dull silver. The afternoon was spent alone. It was nice. I found the shopping center which made me so happy. I bought a pair of fabulous boots from this Italian shop.

Antwerp is beautiful. The architecture is unbelievable. The new construction is modern and is nestled among buildings from the 1900s. The buildings here are giving eyes at their opposites. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!

At 6 P.M. everything started to close. The people simply disappeared. There were a few stragglers, but what mostly could be heard was the clanking of forks & knives. The Belgians were having dinner with their families. How different and correct that seems. It makes my heart moist.

For dinner I found this natural sandwich spot. I ahad a vegetable soup with two slices of whole grain bread, a healthy break from Italian carbs and French pastries. After dinner I walked back to the flat and lied down with Crashy. (Roeland's cat)

When Roeland returned from dance class we had frozen meals. (Yes, I ate again. I took eating as a responsibility while traveling) I had a typical Belgian meal of mashed potatoes with ham and cabbage covered in a white sauce. After dinner we had ice cream bars and 1.2 bottles of Champaign. As the buzz was over us Roeland pushed the dining room table towards the wall so he could teach me what he learned at swing class. So fun! He hops around a lot. Ha."

After this? Sleep. It was a long day.