I awoke at dawn to the birds and the blinds loosing it's morning battle with the light, the light that leaks in whether you want it to or not. Warning:I'm in a mood. What mood? I'm not telling. I'll allow you to estimate which.
Before falling asleep that morning (4a.m.) I slipped a note of apologies under Brendan's door - It went a bit like this - So sorry I disappeared last night - The fun was terribly fun -- Again so sorry.
Brendan was unappeased by this tender note. He woke up that morning, showered, I heard the water go on then off, then left for the Vatican. He left without saying good-bye, he knew I was leaving that morning, alas this was my own doing, I could not blame him much. I was a bit careless with him. It's hard to be thoughtful when your leaving Europe and it feels as if one is turning themselves in to the authorities.
After this I packed my things, something that seemed quite natural by that point. The thought of not returning, dropping out of school, spending every last cent, until God knows what would become of me passed through my mind. But, no I had to turn myself in.
I caught the train from termini to Milan. How lonely it was saying good-bye to it alone. I found a Gelateria, walked about, then decided it was time to take the bus to the final hotel, the Milan Holiday Inn Express, which was a 30 or so minute ride from the heart of town.
As I waited, seated on the curb for persons to load on the bus I thought, how stupid this is that I'm going home - There were two drivers for this bus. My guess is that they took shifts. When everyone was on I climbed the bus steps and as I passed the second driver who sat directly up front said, "This seat is for you," as he gestured to the seat beside him.
For some reason I found myself in these situations all the time? Let's not pretend that I don't know why. I know why. Men are stupid. The bus was crowded, so I sat. The ironic part was he never attempted to speak to me. So maybe he was not stupid, only sweet. Or maybe he failed to direct conversation towards me due to the stream of tears that commenced to flow from my eyes on that drive.
What to do when emotions are too much? I did not create a scene, it simply looked as though an internal switch had been flipped, and all the water which my body held was going to leave me through my eyes. I was most unhappy and happy, unhappy about leaving, and elated about the adventures that were dispensed to me.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Alone at the hotel I took things slowly as if I were my own sick patient. A long shower, slowly choosing my dress for the day coming, laying down, ordering a movie, making promises to myself that I was unsure if I could keep, then sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The final day, at the airport I went through the necessary processes of returning to New York. Once on the plane tears again. Something happened to me. It was too much
to explain what now, but I would resume to be a hunter from there on end. In other words I could do what ever it is to succeed in this life, and not not to settle, never settle.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Final note on this trip. If this inspires anyone to attempt a trip as such -- Book a one way ticket because my flights were switched three times. Those costs add up.
~~~~~~~
I believe this is me finishing something.
Smile.
Showing posts with label dipping a toe in. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dipping a toe in. Show all posts
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Day 33
Did I say one more? I lied as I sometimes do. haha
I have hesitated about writing of this story, since the person who co-stars has thoroughly annoyed me - Yes I'm talking to you -- but not writing it would mean to leave this unfinished and as I said this is getting finished.
At 1 p.m. I had agreed to meet Luca for a possible beach outing. I showed at 1:15-ish and stayed till 1:30-ish. No Luca anywhere. I figured it was not meant to be, so I went to the market, purchased two full shopping bags of food. Why two full shopping bags for one day? It just seemed right.
After lunch, Brendan returned home from his Vatican job and asked what I wanted to do that night, my second and last night in Rome. I told him, to go out of course with as many people as possible, I wanted to see everyone before I left. He okayed me and asked if I minded to wait for him until he got back from the gym, which would be at 9. I said, "Sure no problem," which really meant, not a chance in hell. Me, waiting five hours on my last evening, haha -- aw. I'm sure he had other things to do as well, but what was mentioned was the gym.
Shortly after Brendan left I met Luca on FaceBook. We had the - Where were you conversation - He claimed to be at the Re Di Roma circle. Was it true? Who knows. But we agreed to meet at Coin's cafe (This cafe/bar at the nearby shopping center) at 7.
While showering it started to pour outside. I thought, cheeses I'm going to have to walk in the rain, and for an instant I thought, don't go, but no, I said I would, this meant that I would attend no matter what.
When I arrived my pants were soaked through, but it was bearable. As I attempted to sit comfortably Luca appeared. He was so drenched that he appeared dry. As he sat there shivering a puddle accumulated beneath his seat. When he took his shoes off, he was able to pour water from them, his phone was kaput. Ha. He drove 30 or so minutes on his motor bike under the pelting rain. And he said it was worth it to show up as a wet dog then not to.
I had a coffee, then a glass of red. We comfortably spoke until he had to go to his soccer game. I asked,
"What time is the soccer game?"
He: "9." (The exact hour I had planned to meet Brendan)
Me: "Can I come?"
That question is what it took to settle the evening. When we got outside, it was sunny. O Mr. Weather your a funny one. We rode by bike through swerving lush roads to the sports center. He told me to hold on, I complied halfly and did so with one hand. It was quite enjoyable. Once there I took a seat and waited for the teams to gather. At this point the lack of dinner, coffee, and wine was teaching me a lesson to never repeat that combination again. I tried not to cheer passionately because when I did the excitement was met by sharp pain.
When the game was over and Luca's team had lost, (Curses) I held on to the fence bent over about to vomit. I sent someone to fetch Luca, and when he came out I tried my best to seem okay.
Me: "Luca I must go home I don't feel well. I need to eat something. Bread, something."
He offered to bring me to his house which was nearby. There was that little voice that said, bad idea, no. Then there was that sense of melting at the idea of being cared for, so I went. We ditched the bike and took his friend's car.
At his home I was offered comfortable cloths to change into. Ha I know this sounds ridiculous -- But I was feeling seriously ill, he knew this, and in my mind he sought to alleviate. So yes, I changed from the tight jeans to sweat pants. As I rested alone on the couch he cooked a risotto, which he served for me with cheese and prosciutto. (Dear American men it's time to learn a new trick)
We talked and talked until I looked at the clock and said, "O my gosh it's 3:30, I must go home!" It was too late, we knew it, and I had a train to catch the following noon, & Brendan was going to be pissed. I changed back into people clothes, and we took off towards the city.
As he drove we listened to 'Per Dimenticare' a song on the radio. Luca explained to me that it was about a woman who wanted her ex to show at her wedding, and he sang, please forget me. As he was explaining, or saying something, a police car came into view Luca ducked, I thought this a bit funny, but left it alone.
When we reached the apt. he ejected himself from his car to bid me good-bye. My good-byes were piling up by this point and weighing upon me. We hugged for moments, we separated, he gave his watch to remember him by, I said, "Are you sure?" He said, "Yes." I smiled, said thanks, slowly walked away as he did. He got into his car. I entered the building.
How lovely that was. How wonderous that days as those exist.
The End.
I have hesitated about writing of this story, since the person who co-stars has thoroughly annoyed me - Yes I'm talking to you -- but not writing it would mean to leave this unfinished and as I said this is getting finished.
At 1 p.m. I had agreed to meet Luca for a possible beach outing. I showed at 1:15-ish and stayed till 1:30-ish. No Luca anywhere. I figured it was not meant to be, so I went to the market, purchased two full shopping bags of food. Why two full shopping bags for one day? It just seemed right.
After lunch, Brendan returned home from his Vatican job and asked what I wanted to do that night, my second and last night in Rome. I told him, to go out of course with as many people as possible, I wanted to see everyone before I left. He okayed me and asked if I minded to wait for him until he got back from the gym, which would be at 9. I said, "Sure no problem," which really meant, not a chance in hell. Me, waiting five hours on my last evening, haha -- aw. I'm sure he had other things to do as well, but what was mentioned was the gym.
Shortly after Brendan left I met Luca on FaceBook. We had the - Where were you conversation - He claimed to be at the Re Di Roma circle. Was it true? Who knows. But we agreed to meet at Coin's cafe (This cafe/bar at the nearby shopping center) at 7.
While showering it started to pour outside. I thought, cheeses I'm going to have to walk in the rain, and for an instant I thought, don't go, but no, I said I would, this meant that I would attend no matter what.
When I arrived my pants were soaked through, but it was bearable. As I attempted to sit comfortably Luca appeared. He was so drenched that he appeared dry. As he sat there shivering a puddle accumulated beneath his seat. When he took his shoes off, he was able to pour water from them, his phone was kaput. Ha. He drove 30 or so minutes on his motor bike under the pelting rain. And he said it was worth it to show up as a wet dog then not to.
I had a coffee, then a glass of red. We comfortably spoke until he had to go to his soccer game. I asked,
"What time is the soccer game?"
He: "9." (The exact hour I had planned to meet Brendan)
Me: "Can I come?"
That question is what it took to settle the evening. When we got outside, it was sunny. O Mr. Weather your a funny one. We rode by bike through swerving lush roads to the sports center. He told me to hold on, I complied halfly and did so with one hand. It was quite enjoyable. Once there I took a seat and waited for the teams to gather. At this point the lack of dinner, coffee, and wine was teaching me a lesson to never repeat that combination again. I tried not to cheer passionately because when I did the excitement was met by sharp pain.
When the game was over and Luca's team had lost, (Curses) I held on to the fence bent over about to vomit. I sent someone to fetch Luca, and when he came out I tried my best to seem okay.
Me: "Luca I must go home I don't feel well. I need to eat something. Bread, something."
He offered to bring me to his house which was nearby. There was that little voice that said, bad idea, no. Then there was that sense of melting at the idea of being cared for, so I went. We ditched the bike and took his friend's car.
At his home I was offered comfortable cloths to change into. Ha I know this sounds ridiculous -- But I was feeling seriously ill, he knew this, and in my mind he sought to alleviate. So yes, I changed from the tight jeans to sweat pants. As I rested alone on the couch he cooked a risotto, which he served for me with cheese and prosciutto. (Dear American men it's time to learn a new trick)
We talked and talked until I looked at the clock and said, "O my gosh it's 3:30, I must go home!" It was too late, we knew it, and I had a train to catch the following noon, & Brendan was going to be pissed. I changed back into people clothes, and we took off towards the city.
As he drove we listened to 'Per Dimenticare' a song on the radio. Luca explained to me that it was about a woman who wanted her ex to show at her wedding, and he sang, please forget me. As he was explaining, or saying something, a police car came into view Luca ducked, I thought this a bit funny, but left it alone.
When we reached the apt. he ejected himself from his car to bid me good-bye. My good-byes were piling up by this point and weighing upon me. We hugged for moments, we separated, he gave his watch to remember him by, I said, "Are you sure?" He said, "Yes." I smiled, said thanks, slowly walked away as he did. He got into his car. I entered the building.
How lovely that was. How wonderous that days as those exist.
The End.
Day 32
It's tempting to attack other matters because there a number of issues that are currently plaguing me, but since I rarely finish anything, there is one more story to tell before this chapter comes to end.
The day I returned to Rome I had a reunion with the Re Di Roma family - Brendan, Miss English, C, and the new guy, A. Painfully Miss English was leaving as I was coming, so our exchanges were short.
That night I went out to dinner with the boys - Brendan, A, and Brendan's French friend J. The restaurant had an electrical problem, so our meals were prepared by candle light. How romantic for the food. J thought we were participating in some sort of a couple's night due to the darkness. Ha Luckily we were seated outside, so we were able to see our food when it came.
Afterwards we went to Pompii, the number one place in Rome for tiramisu, or so I have been told many many times. I'll rate it an 8 out of 10.
This was my first night back. Was is fireworks? Not so much. But it was something of equal importance, to sit & talk can many times out due the fireworks.
The day I returned to Rome I had a reunion with the Re Di Roma family - Brendan, Miss English, C, and the new guy, A. Painfully Miss English was leaving as I was coming, so our exchanges were short.
That night I went out to dinner with the boys - Brendan, A, and Brendan's French friend J. The restaurant had an electrical problem, so our meals were prepared by candle light. How romantic for the food. J thought we were participating in some sort of a couple's night due to the darkness. Ha Luckily we were seated outside, so we were able to see our food when it came.
Afterwards we went to Pompii, the number one place in Rome for tiramisu, or so I have been told many many times. I'll rate it an 8 out of 10.
This was my first night back. Was is fireworks? Not so much. But it was something of equal importance, to sit & talk can many times out due the fireworks.
Friday, September 25, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, September 21, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
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..."
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. Thursday, September 17, 2009
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....
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
This is short, I know. But it is the most treasured part of that day. In this case, quality wins.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
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.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
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. Sunday, September 6, 2009
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."
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Part II of Day 22
After I left the Italian man-child I headed to the beach, boarding pass tucked safely in journal. The water was aqua, but cold. The sand, what sand? There were rocks. I was told that the stones turned to pebbles if I went far off then aways, but far off and aways sounded exactly how it sounds now.
After lying there for a bit trying to decide on how many days to stay in Belgium, I asked a skinny boy to snap my picture. Ha poor guy. It went a little like this. I on my stomach:
Me: "I'm just going to lay here...Can you try to get the rocks in the shot? O! And don't get my bottom. I don't want to be indecent."
Boy laughed.
Boy: "How's this?"
I took a look.
Me: "Yeahhh you got my butt a little. Can you take another?"
Boy laughed.
Boy: "How 'bout this one?"
Me: "Okay! That's good. Thanks!" (I smile. I still unhappy with the picture, but I was not going to make him take another.)
Me: "Normally I would advise you to go with the truth. But since it was just a kiss, I vote don't tell her, that is if you still want her, if you don't. Then tell."
Navy Eyes: "She'll know something happened when she sees me." (I can tell A- that he liked her B- that he was worried."
Me: "Then why are you kissing other girls!"
After the subject was thoroughly discussed to no result the boys invited me to go clubbing with them later on. I declined because frankly I was becoming tired of these imbeciles. The Russian, Andrea, the Canadians. My eyes could not take anymore rolling. Dinner with a book sounded ideal.
We said see you later to each other and I went for a long walk. The shops were closed so I window shopped at LongChamp. Dear LongChamp, why are your bloody bags so expensive. Really? As I started to head back to the hostel I thought, desert does sound good. I walked in directions where streets became familiar, then before I could realize it I was twenty something feet away from the restaurant I had previously dined at and there was my waiter, Jeremy.
He saw me. There was no avoiding it, so I thought fine, but I'm not going out for drinks! I told him that I did not want alcohol, that I wanted ice cream. He saw no offense in that and took me to a gelataria of which he claimed. "they have the best ice cream in town." This made :) inside because Jane like ice cream. As we walked, Jeremy pointed out the good places to go and he told me about his trip to Australia. He wasn't trying to sex me at all. Why hadn't I found him a day earlier?
He walked me back to the hostel. We hugged good-bye, he said, "Don't forget, come back to Nice." I looked for the petite piece of paper I had written the entrance code on for the front door and it was gone. I started to buzz, but remembered that the personnel at the front desk got off at midnight and that I was told not to lose the tiny piece of paper. I was unsure as to what I should do, so I walked to the center of the street and yelled up:
Me: "Hello I'm staying at this hostel is anyone there!"
Nothing. Jeremy started with attempts to force the door in.
Me: "That isn't going to work. I tried that this afternoon." (I had lost my second piece of paper, but someone was there earlier to let me in.)
A wave of desperation came over me and what was left was:
Me: "Someone open this door now! Hello wake up up there!"
A guy pops his head out of the window facing the street.
Guy: "Hey! Are you that girl from the kitchen?"
Me: "Yeah! I'm that girl! I forgot the code, can you let me in?" (While I had coffee with the Russian the day before, which seemed like six days ago, this Moroccan guy came into the kitchen asking for a tea pot. The Russian being the jackass he is was not very nice to him.)
Guy: "Sure! Just wait!"
The door buzzed. Jeremy said, "Don't forget!" I said, "I won't!"
What ah day.
After lying there for a bit trying to decide on how many days to stay in Belgium, I asked a skinny boy to snap my picture. Ha poor guy. It went a little like this. I on my stomach:
Me: "I'm just going to lay here...Can you try to get the rocks in the shot? O! And don't get my bottom. I don't want to be indecent."
Boy laughed.
Boy: "How's this?"
I took a look.
Boy laughed.
Boy: "How 'bout this one?"
The boy's pale faced, navy blue eyed, friend started to quizzically stare. (Of course I couldn't tell the color of his eyes from there this came minutes later)
Me: "Okay! That's good. Thanks!" (I smile. I still unhappy with the picture, but I was not going to make him take another.)
Before the polite thanks came out of my mouth the boys introduced themselves. They were from Canada and were also staying at my hostel. O world you're as small as a child sized show box, aren't you? We got to talking. Navy Eyes told me he had kissed two girls the night before which meant he "might" have cheated on his girlfriend. Then the discussion developed into: Tell her or not? Yes there are too obvious answers: honesty or dishonesty. But let's not forget about the gray area.
Me: "Normally I would advise you to go with the truth. But since it was just a kiss, I vote don't tell her, that is if you still want her, if you don't. Then tell."
Navy Eyes: "She'll know something happened when she sees me." (I can tell A- that he liked her B- that he was worried."
After the subject was thoroughly discussed to no result the boys invited me to go clubbing with them later on. I declined because frankly I was becoming tired of these imbeciles. The Russian, Andrea, the Canadians. My eyes could not take anymore rolling. Dinner with a book sounded ideal.
For dinner I went to a pricey-ish restaurant. I figured since I was paying 22 Euros for a bed it evened out. I had duck with wild mushroom sauce. The duck was tough, but the wine was tasty. I wasn't pleased, but I was okay with it. It was my own fault for being too lazy to hunt down a restaurant on a quiet street. When my waiter came by to ask about desert, I said: "Merci, but no, no desert for me." He asked why I was dining alone. I told him I was traveling alone. At this his eyes popped open a little, not too much, just a little. Then he told me that if I wanted to wait until 10:30, he could meet me for a drink. After paying the bill I told him I would be back to fetch him at 10:30. Did I mean it? No. I was tired of men. Stupid men eating up all of my time
We said see you later to each other and I went for a long walk. The shops were closed so I window shopped at LongChamp. Dear LongChamp, why are your bloody bags so expensive. Really? As I started to head back to the hostel I thought, desert does sound good. I walked in directions where streets became familiar, then before I could realize it I was twenty something feet away from the restaurant I had previously dined at and there was my waiter, Jeremy.
He walked me back to the hostel. We hugged good-bye, he said, "Don't forget, come back to Nice." I looked for the petite piece of paper I had written the entrance code on for the front door and it was gone. I started to buzz, but remembered that the personnel at the front desk got off at midnight and that I was told not to lose the tiny piece of paper. I was unsure as to what I should do, so I walked to the center of the street and yelled up:
Me: "Hello I'm staying at this hostel is anyone there!"
Nothing. Jeremy started with attempts to force the door in.
Me: "That isn't going to work. I tried that this afternoon." (I had lost my second piece of paper, but someone was there earlier to let me in.)
A wave of desperation came over me and what was left was:
Me: "Someone open this door now! Hello wake up up there!"
A guy pops his head out of the window facing the street.
Guy: "Hey! Are you that girl from the kitchen?"
Me: "Yeah! I'm that girl! I forgot the code, can you let me in?" (While I had coffee with the Russian the day before, which seemed like six days ago, this Moroccan guy came into the kitchen asking for a tea pot. The Russian being the jackass he is was not very nice to him.)
Guy: "Sure! Just wait!"
The door buzzed. Jeremy said, "Don't forget!" I said, "I won't!"
What ah day.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Day 22
I woke up at 6 something A.M. to go jogging. Those who know me know that waking up at the A.M. to jog is something I do not do. I didn't even have a pair of sneakers. They were more like walking shoes. It was a funny sight. Anyhow, I ran along the path parallel to the blue sea, the Russian was long forgotten. I had picked a building in the horizon as a destination point, yet when I got to it, I kept going. Back at home I couldn't run four blocks without getting winded. But there was something about using my body as a vehicle to explore that made it possible to continue without hesitation.
It started to rain after an hour and I thought great, not sarcastically, it was hot the rain was welcomed. During the walk home I decided to walk on the opposite side of the street, then I started to weave up and down side streets. As I passed local bakeries and salons that were tourist-less, I thought how splendid it would be to set myself up there, make friends, and learn a bit of French cuisine. I felt strings to home become untied and I made promises to my bones that I would return. It was a good walk.
After the croissant breakfast I moved from the Canada Hotel to the Meyerbear Hostel. I booked a night there the previous day. (I knew the Russian had off for the next two days, so there were no run-in worries.) I shared a room with three lovely girls from Chicago. They invited me to tag along with them to Monte Carlo for the day, but I had to find a place to print my boarding pass to Belgium, so I had to decline. As I hunted for an Internet shop that prints Andrea L. cornered me. Yes, I know I haven't introduced him yet, there were too many occurrences the previous day to mention them all. Andrea is a tan blue eyed Italian, who would have dazzled me for three seconds if he had only kept his tacky mouth shut. He approached me in the street to tell me he very much liked my fashion. I was wearing Derek's shirt? ha (Thanks Dairy haha) He, Andrea that is, told me he had to rush off, but it would make him very happy if I were to stop by his office the next day. He handed me his business card, requested for my appearance several more times, and bid me ciao.
When I turned the corner I threw his card into the nearest trash basket. Yet, there he was the very next day, complaining that I forgot him. I told him no, that I was just busy. He asked if I wanted to accompany him back to his office because, "I want to spend time with you, but I must work." (Italian accent) I told him no, that I had to figure this boarding pass thing out. (I had to print it or pay an extra 40 Euro.) He then said, "O, I print it for you , it's no problem for me." I was about to do a head shake to this, but I had to get the stupid paper printed, and I did not want to waste any more time on it. My final response was, "Fine, but I can't stay long cuz I want to get to the beach."
At the office he sat at his desk, I sat across from him. The conversation began with real estate and how Bush the "bastard" ruined the economy for everyone . That no-one was buying in Nice. He was most unhappy to say the least. Then as we waited for the boarding pass to print the conversation changed to:
Andrea: "You know you have ah beautiful breast."
I stared at him as if he just meowed at me like a Persian cat.
Andrea: "I don't like the women with the big breast. Your breast is perfect."
Me: "No you did not just say that to me. Ah thank you but, no. That isn't going to work with me."
He studied me for a moment.
Andrea: "When I saw you, I was very attracted. I had to talk to you even if it just for some minutes."
Me: "Andrea, listen closely, (laughing) it's not going to happen with this girl. (Hand over my head. I pointed at myself for emphasis.)
He then started to sing a song about how life is short, you only live once. Why not do something that you would remember forever?
Me: "If you want to believe in those things, maybe that's okay for you. But I don't. There is no way I would ever -- ever have sex with you. So get that out of your head. And I can't believe that you think it's okay to say these things to me?" (I had to speak to the man as if he were 8 years old. He looked at me as if he really did not understand.)
After this understanding was reached Andrea seemed embarrassed or shocked that his tactics did not work. He apologized if he caused discomfort, then went right into asking me if I would buy him an apple labtop if he sent me the money. (?)
Me: "Would you really trust me enough to send me money to buy you a computer?"
Andrea: "Jane, would you rob from me?"
Me: "Ah yes I would totally rob you."
Andrea: "Ah no Jane. Please. Is cheaper for me if I buy from there. Apple is so expensive here."
Me: "Andrea, I'm not getting you a computer! Now go check if my boarding pass is printed because I have to go."
He looks at me like a brat, checks the back office, and returns with multiple copies of my boarding pass. Apparently he pressed print several times.
He walked me to the door, apologized some more for being forward. I told him again that I would not buy him a computer. He kissed my hand. I left.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Continuation of Day 21
The Russian gives me a stupefied look after my dirty undergarment comment, so I gargled through laugher, "He asked for it." When we got downstairs I noticed that his car was parked out front. At which point he said "we can go somewhere around here or I can take you somewhere else." I was feeling a bit adventurous so, "Somewhere else sounds promising."
Inside his car we listened to blaring French rap, as we sped through winding streets up a mountain. Don't look down because it's off a cliff you go. He kept offering me cigarettes, but I told him that I only smoked when there was a drink close by.
His personality def. changed once we arrived. There was an air of confidence, one I didn't care much for. He thought he had me. (No-one has me, he would soon find that out.) The confidence did make the conversation entertaining, it was sparring with words. He would say one thing and I would completely disagree, simply to disagree. Except when the subject of love and fidelity arose.
First off he told me, his first sexual encounter was with a "bitch", a hooker. At this I made a very disapproving face and told him that was disgusting. (Boys when trying to impress do not mention paying for it.) Then he went on to say that he had suspicions of his recent ex cheating on him, yet he had already openly admit that he had other women on the side during his relationship with her. But that was okay because he was a man, and "men have needs." Needless to say it was a very heated conversation. On my end there was a lot of:
"What! What is wrong with you? How do you expect someone to be loyal when you refuse to show them the same curtsey? No! It's not okay for men to cheat because they're men! That is the most ridiculous statement I have ever heard!"
After my second glass of red and his of R & C I expressed that was enough for me. When the waiter came to check on us he ordered another R & C and said, "And another glass of red for the beautiful woman." (keep the Russian accent in mind) I quickly responded, "Thank you, but I won't be having anything else."
The Russian, "Common you aren't going to make me drink alone."
Me: "Then don't drink." (with a smile)
He offers me a cigarette. I take it.
Me: "I think they're trying to close anyway. Shall we leave?" (The chairs were on tables, all other patrons were gone.)
Russian: "What do you want? Back to the hotel or somewhere else?"
Russian: "One something."
Me: "Some where else. I can sleep when I'm dead." (Laugh. I knew I probably should have called it, calling it, really is an art form.)
We went on to this other place in town which was a positive. There was a live band singing, "Rape me my friend," at which point I expressed excitement, not because I loved the song, but because I went over those lyrics in a features class a few months past.
I made us sit up close to the band so I couldn't hear him talk. I was having a great time, until the offers for a drink started to accumulate. He must have asked me eighteen times if I wanted a drink, and each time I smiled and said, "No, no thanks." I was trying to keep the little cat inside from clawing his face since he had to take me home. But when the instant came about when he leaned in to kiss me, I put my hand in his face, and said, "Not this girl. I need to get back to the hotel, now."
On the drive back the Russian started to speed and became very quiet. The man had two rum and cokes and three beers, I became worried.
Me: "Would you like me to drive."
Russian, "What?"
Me: Your drunk and you're driving too fast. I'd like to get to the hotel alive if you don't mind."
He slowed down.
Russian: "I'm okay. Don't worry. You don't have to worry with me. I'll protect you." (Yes, he said this. It must be the language barrier or he really is that lame.)
He offered me a cigarette. I was done with accepting anything further from him.
Me: "No, thanks."
I began to relax and enjoyed the song. Two minutes after relaxtion he offered me another cigarette.
The cat is out..Me: "Stop offering me things I don't want!"
Silence
Russian: "Are you angry with me?"
Me: "Yes! I'm angry with you! How would you like it if someone kept offering you something after you've said no many many times!"
Russian: "I don't think it would bother me."
Me: "Well it bothers me! How are you going to keep offering something to someone when they don't want it? It doesn't make any sense!"
Silence the rest of the way.
When we arrived at the hotel he got out to walk me. I told him that was unnecessary. He offered his number I told him that was also unnecessary. Mean? I don't care. Lets only hope that he learned something that night.
~
Why did I go? I was moving with the changes of the wind. Would I have kissed him if he were a gentleman? No, I don't go around kissing just anyone. It's a privilege, not a given.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Day 21
I am pissed beyond belief but let's just try to work through this. Shall we?The Bloody Russian. Yeah this isn't going to help. But let's do it anyway.
I woke up to a girl telling me to get downstairs before the hostel stopped serving breakfast, which was good since I had agreed to meet Eugene and the other one, the two Australians for breakfast. I throw on my people cloths, run down, and meet them. We had a pleasant conversation. Their plan was to travel Europe for six months before they devoted another four years to schooling, college. Which def. made me question US youth. When we go on a major trip A- It's typically after college, and B- It's painstakingly planned. Why and why.
Anyway, after breakfast I attempted to book another night at the such and such hostel. Yet, couldn't since there weren't anymore vacancies. (I should have booked for multiple nights.) I asked if there were any neighboring hostels that could be of use. An old French woman told me yes, that I could try at the Meyerbear Beach Hotel, their sister hostel. And that luck was needed since beds went fast on the day of.
So I left on a hunt for this Meyerbeach place. After getting lost, finding it, carrying my heavy bag up two steep flights of steps, I was told, "Apologies, no beds," but I could use their free Internet if needed. I sat in front of the computer and had a slight emotional attack. I was in Nice wasting the day on a bed search! Mr. Reception Guy asked if I needed assistance, at which point I said:
Me: "Yes actually yes. I need to stay at a really nice hotel. Know of any?" (This is me in a panic - Throw the plastic at the rabid dog before it gets to me - Sorry just read 'Cujo'.
Mr. Reception: "What do you mean by nice? Five Stars nice?"
Me: "Sure, five stars sounds good." (I started to get excited this could be fun)
Mr. Reception: "Okay let me make some calls to see what can be done."
I checked my e-mail and started to plot further travel destinations. Belgium? Why not? Ten minutes pass.
Me: "Is it nice?"
Mr. Reception: "It's very nice. And it's only a five minute walk from here."
Mr. Reception: "340 Euro including tax."
My eyes widened. (I just spent 22 Euro for a bed the prior night.)
Me: "340 is a lot."
Mr. Reception: "You said you wanted something nice. This is really nice."
Me: "Okay, can't we find something a little less nice? I'm sorry. Let me be more specific. I would like nice, but I also have to keep an eye on my budget. Is there something less?"
Mr. Reception got back on the phone and twelve minutes later he summoned my attention to the Canada Inn which would cost 84 Euros. I told him that 84 was much better. He booked the room, all I had to do was show. While I gathered my things Mr. R. asked if I wanted to have a coffee with him. I really wanted to get on with the day, but the man had helped me, so I followed him to the employees only lounge and sat on the dish washer as he prepared the coffee. It was a tad humorous:
"Am I really supposed to be back here?"
He: "Yeah it's fine I'm the only one working here today."
As we chatted, he asked why I was traveling alone as most people did. He told me he was Russian, which surprised me since his accent sounded French. He also said he was into UFC fighting and that he was about to graduate college. Bla bla bla we talked. He could sense I wanted to leave, so he invited me out to drinks later that night. I told him yes to shut him up. Would I go? Who knew? We agreed that he would pick me up at the Canada, but if I didn't want in, I would simply stay out.
The hours that followed were glorious. I ate tasty kebabs for lunch and explored the streets until I came upon a trolley type train. I saw it from across the street, ran over and bought a ticket. It transported me up a mountain to a natural park. The views of the shore line folded something inside myself. (Stirred would be too violent.)
Once back at my hotel I decided to go out with the Russian. What was I going to do at the hotel alone?
He showed, waited, (I always make them wait) and we were nearly off, but I had to mumble something about how ridiculous it was that we had to turn in the room key before leaving. Mr. Reception heard, and said:
"You can take the key if you want."
Me: "Really?" (Sounding hopeful)
Mr. Reception: "Yes, but we have extra keys of every room. If I really wanted to get into your room and go through your stuff, I could if I wanted." (This was said smugly.)
Me: "In that case you'd better hold on to this." (Attitude as I hand him the key & turn to leave.)
As we step down the stairs I hollered back, "Don't go sniffing my dirty underwear while I'm away." (What?)
~~~~~~~~~~~There has to be a part 2. Jane need sleep.~~~~~~~~~
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