On Connecting
crazy black woman dancing in the
middle of the street
old fat woman struggling
to eat
New York City
b g from
o n
u i
n c
terminal
to
terminal
looking for a flight whose
number'
s changed.
the airport resort
eat sleep piss fuck and
BUY
Duty free
Tax free
would you like a rolex before
you go to your gate?
all meant to sedate
aid and
create a
happy people - docile
like puppies.
and\ / no circumstances
\under/
should you take a stance
or they'
tear up your ticket
throw you in the
dungeon
before you can sneer
and no one will know you'
re gone
just another body lost in
the throng of
mass
transit.
ba Da DA!
"Flight X leaving for X now
at gate X"
sorry, that'
s me, wish me
luck.
The Sentencing
Case: In
(what?)
we
trust.
Sentence: Over
5000 years; -
time
served.
Thoughts
The real question here is why are there so many military personnel in the airport.
I ain't sleepin' none.
crying children - worse than
child actors.
lots of sparrows in the airport.
officers of Homeland Security bless me after I sneeze. They're not so bad after all. Like the nice chit-chat of the U.S. Border guarders on road betwix't Canada and the U.S. of A. What a job - espcially compared to writer, recorder of thoughts, wordsmith, pen-jockey.
There's no happy ending.
Even in the darkness every colour can be found.
Stereotypes - cops talking about who should be Wonderwoman, "Linda Crawford was beautiful" - "The 70s was reliable, movies now are bad, it's all the money" - "theater is bad too. All like high school productions. Rent, Chicago, Spring Awakening." - "I will never see Wonderwoman." - "Los Angelese is a garbage city." - "Worse thing is, you need a car. Here, is crowded, but you no need a car." - "still most polluted city in united states." - "no diversity restaurants, all Mexican, Mexican, Mexican" - they are all Chicano officers.
Gonzo - accident and desperation.
There's a black woman over there eating fried chicken...Jesus, the stereotypes just keep on coming...Selah.
I will soon be encases in a giant tube in the sky...with no escape. The animals are out to get me and I'm not even drunk. Pity me, save me, gratify me...for I am the 21st Century Achilles - doing battle with the mind; this century's Foe of Man. I don['t like the look of that guy's prim-cut business suit - pinstripe though it is - and his redt tie and his slicked back, blonde Patrick Bateman hair. I don't know and therefore can't say what is it about air travel that makes me so bitter.
End of NY --> LA flight; look over to see the woman next to me had her phone on in her pocket the whole time - we could've spiralled off trail! She is cute in those ripped jeans though and now she's making a goddamn phone call inappropriately! But she's speaking...Slavic of some kind. Explains everything! The commies are coming to get us ALL! Is she a drug mule? Or a prostitute? She is always looking at messages on her phone.
Made connection to Sydney from LA with moments to spare - having seen my name on some 'cleared' list, I approached ahead of the line, and was given my boarding pass and now I wait.
FINALLY LANDING - to do it all again in 4 days. I'm the best goddamn friend there ever was.
DO YOU WANNA SIT ON A BROKEN SEAT?!
I hope they're worth it. Who? The person you're waiting for.
How long have you been gone?
4 days.
Also; couple on phone in airport. Clearly newly married couple on phone to their friend back home. They are returning from their honeymoon. The wife is speaking - it is a female friend for sure. I can hear her voice from over the speaker. They are laughing. Something about the sending of love, the phone is passed to the man. His face, his voice...all I can picture is that on the other end of the line the friend is saying, "When you get back, I am going to jump you like crazy...just you wait. Oooh, yeah...I'm so horny."And he just laughs it off while his wife sits there...
Friday, December 11, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
New York the Second
My trip in New York City consisted of these things: walks, picnics and conversation. And some theatre. I walked all over the numbered crazed smoky streets of that tall city, from 57th to 39th to 112th. I caught the subway sometimes, in the humid heat of the underground, "In winter it's 5 degrees colder and in summer it's 5 degrees hotter." as Yael accurately put it.
Sitting in Central Park reading a comic book listening to a three piece jazz band:
Once I was in New York City
Walking in Central Park
When I saw a Hideous Thing
Go lurking in the Dark
It lurked past the Tourists
And the trio Jazz Band
And it grabbed a Woman walking by
By her thin and slender hand
She would've let out a Scream
Of this I'm fairly Sure
As she was grabbed by this Beast
Of Old Forgotten Lore
But she never Screamed, of this
I couldn't tell you Why
She just sort of Smiled
As the Tears came to her Eyes
I wish I could have Saved her
As it dragged her through the Grass
But I stood Frozen in Fear
Afraid for My Own Ass
So I ran Home to my Hotel
And I tried my Best not to Think
Of the Girl taken by the Beast
Down to that Sewer System Link
If I had Saved Her she could
Have been my true Love, Sure
But if I'd have Failed, I'd have Died
Eaten Alive down in that Sewer
Now every Time I go through that Park
I think of that awful Beast
And hope I don't see it Again
Or turn ME into it's Feast.
"Wicked" on Broadway - an amazing cast singing songs at me I wish I'd written. "Waiting for Godot" off Broadway with Nathan Lane and John Goodman - a play I now love. Read "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" and "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay" - two top favourite books now, which are inspiring me to write again.
Picnics on roofs, on bedroom floors, on the library steps, but never on the grass. Hunting for wild salsa ingredients. Free slurpie day.
The Chassidic Jew bus on the to Montreal - 8 hours.
Sitting in Central Park reading a comic book listening to a three piece jazz band:
Once I was in New York City
Walking in Central Park
When I saw a Hideous Thing
Go lurking in the Dark
It lurked past the Tourists
And the trio Jazz Band
And it grabbed a Woman walking by
By her thin and slender hand
She would've let out a Scream
Of this I'm fairly Sure
As she was grabbed by this Beast
Of Old Forgotten Lore
But she never Screamed, of this
I couldn't tell you Why
She just sort of Smiled
As the Tears came to her Eyes
I wish I could have Saved her
As it dragged her through the Grass
But I stood Frozen in Fear
Afraid for My Own Ass
So I ran Home to my Hotel
And I tried my Best not to Think
Of the Girl taken by the Beast
Down to that Sewer System Link
If I had Saved Her she could
Have been my true Love, Sure
But if I'd have Failed, I'd have Died
Eaten Alive down in that Sewer
Now every Time I go through that Park
I think of that awful Beast
And hope I don't see it Again
Or turn ME into it's Feast.
"Wicked" on Broadway - an amazing cast singing songs at me I wish I'd written. "Waiting for Godot" off Broadway with Nathan Lane and John Goodman - a play I now love. Read "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" and "The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay" - two top favourite books now, which are inspiring me to write again.
Picnics on roofs, on bedroom floors, on the library steps, but never on the grass. Hunting for wild salsa ingredients. Free slurpie day.
The Chassidic Jew bus on the to Montreal - 8 hours.
Monday, July 6, 2009
New York
Left Sydney at 9:35am and had a 14 hour flight to L.A. with a kid in the seat behind me who delighted in nothing more than rhythmically and repeatedly kicking my chair. He wouldn't stop even when I leaned over and peered at him - just looked me in the eyes and kept kicking. Only wat I got him to stop was by leaning over and looking at his mother who would then tell him to stop. Met two Aussie girls on the plane from Palm Beach who were heading to L.A. - told them to be careful trying to get into bars and clubs underage - but they were gonna try anyway.
Flight from L.A. to NY seemed like it took longer than it did. I was so fucking tired. Eventually we landed and I got out looking for a coach into Manhattan. As I walk out of the airport a woman approaches and says, "Coach to Manhattan?" so I say yes and follow her and the 4 other young tourists she has trailing her. Turns out there were 4 friends from a small town in Austria of 2000 people. This would be one hell of a change for them, especially considering Austria is only 8 million people. So we get to the car. We were all expecting some kind of big white bus - how wrong we were as we walked over to reveal a black limo. $19 to Manhattan in a limo - hell that's cheaper than a cab or a real coach. We pile in the back, making jokes about whether or not we're being kidnapped when the limo has to fill up on gas. As we're trying to leave the gas lot, the limo becomes jammed between the gas pumps and a parks car, meaning the back wheel has to go over a large concrete bump before we can drive off. This was our best plan, so that's what we did. When I got out and tipped her a buck - "Only a dollar?!" she said, "Come on, I'm a poor student!" - I still just couldn't tell her about the HUGE scratches on the side of her car caused by it scratching against the guard rails while we were stuck back at the gas station. I walked the 6 blocks in the heat with my bags to reach the glory of the Holiday Inn and took a shower. I made plans to meet Yolanda whenever she could arrive but I feel asleep and only after knocking and ringing my room could she wake me and we went out. We had a corn beef and pickle sandwich with a Snapple (grape) and walked in Central Park catching fireflies before I went back to the hotel and slept like a log. All in all, a good first day in New York.
Flight from L.A. to NY seemed like it took longer than it did. I was so fucking tired. Eventually we landed and I got out looking for a coach into Manhattan. As I walk out of the airport a woman approaches and says, "Coach to Manhattan?" so I say yes and follow her and the 4 other young tourists she has trailing her. Turns out there were 4 friends from a small town in Austria of 2000 people. This would be one hell of a change for them, especially considering Austria is only 8 million people. So we get to the car. We were all expecting some kind of big white bus - how wrong we were as we walked over to reveal a black limo. $19 to Manhattan in a limo - hell that's cheaper than a cab or a real coach. We pile in the back, making jokes about whether or not we're being kidnapped when the limo has to fill up on gas. As we're trying to leave the gas lot, the limo becomes jammed between the gas pumps and a parks car, meaning the back wheel has to go over a large concrete bump before we can drive off. This was our best plan, so that's what we did. When I got out and tipped her a buck - "Only a dollar?!" she said, "Come on, I'm a poor student!" - I still just couldn't tell her about the HUGE scratches on the side of her car caused by it scratching against the guard rails while we were stuck back at the gas station. I walked the 6 blocks in the heat with my bags to reach the glory of the Holiday Inn and took a shower. I made plans to meet Yolanda whenever she could arrive but I feel asleep and only after knocking and ringing my room could she wake me and we went out. We had a corn beef and pickle sandwich with a Snapple (grape) and walked in Central Park catching fireflies before I went back to the hotel and slept like a log. All in all, a good first day in New York.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Returning Home - A Strange and Terrible Ordeal; Ramblings.
"Don't worry, my flight home is at 7.30 pm, let's drink, I'll get up at noon and be fine!" I said to the others. Regrettably, this is untrue.
I awoke at half past noon and double checked my itinerary, "HOLY SHIT GODDAMN MOTHER FUCK!" I yelled as I saw I had missed my Montreal-New York flight at 10.30 am. It had taken off and landed by the time I had woken up! I ran downstairs to Phillipe and yelled with a stutter what the problem was and we hightailed it into the car and to the airport, trying to get Qantas on the phone, but airline people know how to be unhelpful, "Thank you." I promptly told Erin - the woman in charge of Qantas points flights - in a matter-of-fact, go-fuck-yourself kind of way and hung up, flipping the phone shut.
Spending many precious minutes trying to find a flight to New York within the foreseeable future which would get me there in time for my New York-LA-Sydney connection, we ran from one end of the airport to the other, checking internet and every airline desk within reach. Finally the Air Canada woman helped us, informing us of a flight n Delta, "Well, there's one leaving at 4:15 to New York...but that's $930...let me check if I can bounce you from Toronto to LA...no, that's $1100...okay, the New York flight if your best bet." So we ran to the Delta desk and ran into a rookie girl running the check in and we babbled our story to her. A manager - Eric - quickly interjected and began to help us, booking me in with my credit card and a quick flash of typing, "...aaaaand there you go."
"Thank you! The first helpful person here!"
"Oh...your bag might be too big...here...these are valet luggage tags, they will take your bags from you as you board and give them back as you disembark." I thank him and Phillipe and ran to passport control, "Worst day ever." I kept muttering to myself.
Finally arrived in LA without a hitch. The place we came out was the same place we were leaving from thankfully. The flight had passed thankfully also passed quickly, and so I did not feel too tired, though I knew I would soon feel the strain of the long LA to Syd flight. We weren't waiting too long here, which was good - nothing to do but sit.
My words get confused as I think of their faces. Faces I won't see again for some time.
I look down to earth from this kingdom of clouds as radiant orange lights reflect off of the mysteriously beautiful clouds and I'm not sure what I feel.
I can smell myself and it's not a fantastic odour. I've been in the air for approx. a day and a half so no shower. I have brushed my teeth which felt good. I slept, too. Watched two or three movies. I can't remember now. It was just killing time. Music flows from my headphones and I miss them. Almost every song reminds me of them in some way. I will see half of them again soon - but not the others. I will have to go to them or them to me.
HA HA HA HA. It's been too long!
The cloud cover over Sydney was beautiful, magestic and expansive - each cloud looking like a small explosion frozen in time and turned white - beautiful masses which appeared solid as the ground we walk on, but are as ethereal as the concept of love.
I awoke at half past noon and double checked my itinerary, "HOLY SHIT GODDAMN MOTHER FUCK!" I yelled as I saw I had missed my Montreal-New York flight at 10.30 am. It had taken off and landed by the time I had woken up! I ran downstairs to Phillipe and yelled with a stutter what the problem was and we hightailed it into the car and to the airport, trying to get Qantas on the phone, but airline people know how to be unhelpful, "Thank you." I promptly told Erin - the woman in charge of Qantas points flights - in a matter-of-fact, go-fuck-yourself kind of way and hung up, flipping the phone shut.
Spending many precious minutes trying to find a flight to New York within the foreseeable future which would get me there in time for my New York-LA-Sydney connection, we ran from one end of the airport to the other, checking internet and every airline desk within reach. Finally the Air Canada woman helped us, informing us of a flight n Delta, "Well, there's one leaving at 4:15 to New York...but that's $930...let me check if I can bounce you from Toronto to LA...no, that's $1100...okay, the New York flight if your best bet." So we ran to the Delta desk and ran into a rookie girl running the check in and we babbled our story to her. A manager - Eric - quickly interjected and began to help us, booking me in with my credit card and a quick flash of typing, "...aaaaand there you go."
"Thank you! The first helpful person here!"
"Oh...your bag might be too big...here...these are valet luggage tags, they will take your bags from you as you board and give them back as you disembark." I thank him and Phillipe and ran to passport control, "Worst day ever." I kept muttering to myself.
Finally arrived in LA without a hitch. The place we came out was the same place we were leaving from thankfully. The flight had passed thankfully also passed quickly, and so I did not feel too tired, though I knew I would soon feel the strain of the long LA to Syd flight. We weren't waiting too long here, which was good - nothing to do but sit.
My words get confused as I think of their faces. Faces I won't see again for some time.
I look down to earth from this kingdom of clouds as radiant orange lights reflect off of the mysteriously beautiful clouds and I'm not sure what I feel.
I can smell myself and it's not a fantastic odour. I've been in the air for approx. a day and a half so no shower. I have brushed my teeth which felt good. I slept, too. Watched two or three movies. I can't remember now. It was just killing time. Music flows from my headphones and I miss them. Almost every song reminds me of them in some way. I will see half of them again soon - but not the others. I will have to go to them or them to me.
HA HA HA HA. It's been too long!
The cloud cover over Sydney was beautiful, magestic and expansive - each cloud looking like a small explosion frozen in time and turned white - beautiful masses which appeared solid as the ground we walk on, but are as ethereal as the concept of love.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Chapter 21: New Years Eve, Day and the Plane to the Great White North
I got up at 8:30am to the sound of Allyn getting back in, "Did you pick up?" I sleepily asked in tandem with Adam, my mouth muffled by the pillow, "Yeah man...well...I got a fuckin' blowjob man...this girl was cute in like, a heavy set way. I went back to her place with her friends and we smoked all this hash and she just ripped my pants off...I'm not wasted...I'm just high." he said as he fell into bed, asleep. I got up to breakfast with Adam and conversed on American conspiracy theories of 9/11 and JFK and we then went downstairs to chill in the self-cater dining room so Gideon could eat his self-bought meal and we just chatted and did the daily crossword. Soon they left to head to the coast and I stuck around to read and prepare my bags to leave, as I would probably forego sleep that night in favour of just heading to the airport for my flight.
During th eday I simply lazed around reading and at one point held a small concert for the hostel guests with Salvo's guitar; to the applause of a large group of Italians, constantly requesting sons I'd never heard of from artists I've never heard of. At around 7:30pm I went down to the staff kitchen to hang with Anne-Cecile and her friend's brother whose name I've now unfortunately forgotten.
We sat there talking to the various staff members I had befriended and drinking red wine (Halim and Bordeaux) and eating peanuts and pistachios. After about an hour I got a text from the Americans saying they had returned from the coast and would be crashing until about 9pm. When the time rolled round I headed upstairs from the kitchen and turned on the light on the sleeping Americans, who were already waking up anyway. We talked for a while and Gideon went out to get a half-bottle of Jameson and 4 cokes and we shared the whiskey evently between the bottles and began drinking as we left the hostel, ready to hit the streets by 10pm. We finished our drinks on the way to getting some food as I expressed my pressing hunger at my not having had dinner and the fellows agreed and we his Supermac's - a cheaper, seemingly better version of McDonald's.
After eating and running into another group of Italians from our hostel drinking beer, cider and champagne on the street, we decided to head to Lannigan's to see Ross. When we got there, the place was quickly filling up and we quickly grabbed seats at the bar and ordered a round of Irish Car Bombs - "To 2008!" we toasted - followed by pints of Guiness - "To Ross!" this time. There were other travellers in the pub with balloons and Gideon, Adam and I slapped them around with the other, older group of celebrators as Allyn talked with Ross and the other bartenders.
By 11:30 the boys wanted to leave Lannigan's in search of that ever important Midnight Kiss - despite me being content to stay at Lannigan's, as this was noy my priority. They never got those kisses. We left the pub to find another where there would be more girls our age that the bots would try and pick up, but before we did Ross impored us to have a glass of champagne with him and so we did. We soon his the streets again and over the bridge to find that most pubs were closed due to their being full, "I wanna be in a pub for the countdown," I said, "I don't want to spend the new year moment on the street."
"I know, I agree." conceded the three and as the time approached we had still nto found a pub, "Okay," said Gideon, "If we don't find one in the next five minutes, we're running back to Lannigan's." and I nodded fiercely.
"I don't care where we are, really," Gideon had said earlier, "as long as I'm in your good company."
We soon began legging it back to Lannigan's when Allyn ducked into a club on our right. We all followed him, me noticing that not only did we not pay the cover charge as the entry person was absent, but it was an over 23's club and three quarters of us were under that age, but we ran in with no problems. Once in the club we ordered up another round of Irish Car Bombs and as the countdown began within the club, prompted by the DJ, we readied to dropin the shot on "ONE!" and yelled, "To 2009!" in toast and downed the drinks. During the countdown, as well, the song "The Final Countdown" began playing and we danced like mad loons, like the mad loons we were, we are. We left the pub wishing New Years to the entrance keeper of funds we hadn't paid and the guards and subsequently to any fool we cam upon on the street. We encountered groups of intoxicated men and women and anyone we saw we wish New Years wishes to, me extending the greeting, "Happy New Years from Sydney, Australia!" each time, which was always a good icebreaker is seemed. Once on the street another countdown began amongst the immense crowds herding in the streets of Dublin and across the main bridges and at, "ONE!"there were abundent cheers and the sounds of fireworks, but none could be seen as a result of heavy fog and cloud cover, "LIES! What are these invisible fireworks!" I shout and Adam choruses with, "Unbelievable!" We set foot for Lannigan's once more and are greeted by a smiling Ross once more and I also notice Actor Joe from my second night here and greet him. We order a round of pints and are also given free glasses of champagne by Ross, "The pints are on me too, boys." and he smiles and winks. We thank him and toast to him once more. The group of revellers from before were still there and so we conversed with, and subsequently danced with, them as the Pogues' "Fairytales of New York" came on. We also struck up conversations with 2 older Englishwomen who were at the bar, who were amazed we'd come so far just to spend New Years in Dublin. At around 1am the bar was closing and Ross seemed tired, so we left, thanking him repeatedly. We ended up running into a girl Allyn tried to pick up but missed as she began necking with some other Irish guy we just met on the street moments later.
We made it to a club next to these Irish guys' hotel as they wanted to hang with us and inside Allyn needed me as a wingman so he could pick up a girl and he hated going solo; amused, I agreed. In this club we also - somehow - managed to avoid the money collector and got in free, saving another 10 Euros. Inside we ran into 2 girls, one of which Allyn wanted to pick up as I spoke to her friend, but we had to go get Gideon and Adam from outside, who had somehow lost the Irish guys.
Once back inside, they did have to pay the cover charge and we couldn't recover the original girls, so Allyn began hunting for another duo, whom he soon found in a couple of sisters from London, Allyn hitting on the younger of the two as I spoke (distracted) the elder, "Fuck drinks are expensive here," she said, "the pound is equal to the euro and a shot back home is 1 Pound and here it's 5 Euros, and this drink," she said holding up the drink, "was 8.70 Euros, where it'd be 3 Pounds back home!" We talked more on this sort of thing as I was interested to hear the differences as I had heard London to be quite expensive - and amongst this we lost Gideon and Adam again. This girl - Lucy - had a boyfriend who, for some reason or another, was not with her this eve, which I thought odd. I told her about Anna and how I wished she was there and Lucy thoughtthat sucked that we had to be so far apart. Turns out Amy - the younger sister - was also involved with someone, despite her overt flirtation with Allyn and the barkeep, "Do you want me to help you clean up?" she asked, grabbing the rag and wiping the counter. I suppressed a laugh and Allyn and I bid farewells to the girls in search of our comrades and a proper pub.
"So they both had boyfriends, those bitches!" he said.
"Not really. THey just wanted to meet people, too." I said back.
"I gues it's okay for you, and very smooth on bringing up your girl." I shrugged, it was a conversational topic. We soon ran into this Italian man with a guitar and I bothered him to play it and he handed it over, so I accosted the audience with "Wonderwall" and "Hallelujah" to uproarus, drunken applause. We then gained the company of an Aussie couple from Adelaide, the girl of which - Jane - tried to kiss me as I played guitar but I expertly maneuvered away. She did, however, catch me twice off guard, the first outside a pub when we were deciding where to go and I scolded her calmly telling her about Anna and then she did it again as they left our company, fascilitating my happiness to leave their company. I told her that that wasn't cool as I had already told her not to and had just been, in fact, on the phone to Anna, and she knew that. I walked back with Allyn to the hostel in a light huff. By the time I got back to the hostel it was 4:45am and I chatted with Allyn for some time before I got my bags and headed for the bus, wishing fond farewells to Allyn and his sleeping bretheren, "It's a shame we can't be everyday friends after this. I was discussing that with the others." he said and I nodded and smiled, "See you again soon." I said and went down to farewell the staff and hit the road for the last time to the bus stop, still swaying with drink. I soon got on the bus and ordered McDonald's breakfast at the airport waiting for my check-in to start - which I did expertly soberly despite the head full of liquor.
"Where're you headed?" asked a tall Asian man.
"Canada. For study." I said, concentrating on the words, holding my head sleepily.
"Oh, that's cool. I'm heading home to Chicago."
"Awesome."
"You in coach?"
"Yeah, you?"
"Well, I can get an upgrade to business. If you like, I could get you one too?" An alarm bell went off in my head and I didn't know what to say, "Umm...thanks...we'll see once I get to the check-in gate."
"Okay, cool. My name's JT."
"Jordan." and we shook hands. As I got to the security checkpoint, JT in front of me, he went through first and I waved him off and his suspicious offer of a free upgrade.
As I sat in the airport I was overcome with a sensation of anxiety and fear that this was my final leg of this trip. Once it was over, I was going to LIVE in another country for four months. The fact that I was tired, coming down off of drink and felt I had wronged Anna through no fault of my own didn't help and I called her and told her about everything and she soothed and calmed me. But things happen, life goes on.
I slept most of the eight and a half hour flight to Chicago and, after dealing with US customs and immigration, got onto my small charter plane to Montreal, which was not full and allowed me to not have a seat mate.
I was finally in the Great White North, I thought to myself as the planded landed in the -15 C cold, and who knows what awaits me here. And all I could pay attention to from the air was the lighly snow covered ground below.
- from the Journal, 31st December 2008 and 1st January 2009.
During th eday I simply lazed around reading and at one point held a small concert for the hostel guests with Salvo's guitar; to the applause of a large group of Italians, constantly requesting sons I'd never heard of from artists I've never heard of. At around 7:30pm I went down to the staff kitchen to hang with Anne-Cecile and her friend's brother whose name I've now unfortunately forgotten.
We sat there talking to the various staff members I had befriended and drinking red wine (Halim and Bordeaux) and eating peanuts and pistachios. After about an hour I got a text from the Americans saying they had returned from the coast and would be crashing until about 9pm. When the time rolled round I headed upstairs from the kitchen and turned on the light on the sleeping Americans, who were already waking up anyway. We talked for a while and Gideon went out to get a half-bottle of Jameson and 4 cokes and we shared the whiskey evently between the bottles and began drinking as we left the hostel, ready to hit the streets by 10pm. We finished our drinks on the way to getting some food as I expressed my pressing hunger at my not having had dinner and the fellows agreed and we his Supermac's - a cheaper, seemingly better version of McDonald's.
After eating and running into another group of Italians from our hostel drinking beer, cider and champagne on the street, we decided to head to Lannigan's to see Ross. When we got there, the place was quickly filling up and we quickly grabbed seats at the bar and ordered a round of Irish Car Bombs - "To 2008!" we toasted - followed by pints of Guiness - "To Ross!" this time. There were other travellers in the pub with balloons and Gideon, Adam and I slapped them around with the other, older group of celebrators as Allyn talked with Ross and the other bartenders.
By 11:30 the boys wanted to leave Lannigan's in search of that ever important Midnight Kiss - despite me being content to stay at Lannigan's, as this was noy my priority. They never got those kisses. We left the pub to find another where there would be more girls our age that the bots would try and pick up, but before we did Ross impored us to have a glass of champagne with him and so we did. We soon his the streets again and over the bridge to find that most pubs were closed due to their being full, "I wanna be in a pub for the countdown," I said, "I don't want to spend the new year moment on the street."
"I know, I agree." conceded the three and as the time approached we had still nto found a pub, "Okay," said Gideon, "If we don't find one in the next five minutes, we're running back to Lannigan's." and I nodded fiercely.
"I don't care where we are, really," Gideon had said earlier, "as long as I'm in your good company."
We soon began legging it back to Lannigan's when Allyn ducked into a club on our right. We all followed him, me noticing that not only did we not pay the cover charge as the entry person was absent, but it was an over 23's club and three quarters of us were under that age, but we ran in with no problems. Once in the club we ordered up another round of Irish Car Bombs and as the countdown began within the club, prompted by the DJ, we readied to dropin the shot on "ONE!" and yelled, "To 2009!" in toast and downed the drinks. During the countdown, as well, the song "The Final Countdown" began playing and we danced like mad loons, like the mad loons we were, we are. We left the pub wishing New Years to the entrance keeper of funds we hadn't paid and the guards and subsequently to any fool we cam upon on the street. We encountered groups of intoxicated men and women and anyone we saw we wish New Years wishes to, me extending the greeting, "Happy New Years from Sydney, Australia!" each time, which was always a good icebreaker is seemed. Once on the street another countdown began amongst the immense crowds herding in the streets of Dublin and across the main bridges and at, "ONE!"there were abundent cheers and the sounds of fireworks, but none could be seen as a result of heavy fog and cloud cover, "LIES! What are these invisible fireworks!" I shout and Adam choruses with, "Unbelievable!" We set foot for Lannigan's once more and are greeted by a smiling Ross once more and I also notice Actor Joe from my second night here and greet him. We order a round of pints and are also given free glasses of champagne by Ross, "The pints are on me too, boys." and he smiles and winks. We thank him and toast to him once more. The group of revellers from before were still there and so we conversed with, and subsequently danced with, them as the Pogues' "Fairytales of New York" came on. We also struck up conversations with 2 older Englishwomen who were at the bar, who were amazed we'd come so far just to spend New Years in Dublin. At around 1am the bar was closing and Ross seemed tired, so we left, thanking him repeatedly. We ended up running into a girl Allyn tried to pick up but missed as she began necking with some other Irish guy we just met on the street moments later.
We made it to a club next to these Irish guys' hotel as they wanted to hang with us and inside Allyn needed me as a wingman so he could pick up a girl and he hated going solo; amused, I agreed. In this club we also - somehow - managed to avoid the money collector and got in free, saving another 10 Euros. Inside we ran into 2 girls, one of which Allyn wanted to pick up as I spoke to her friend, but we had to go get Gideon and Adam from outside, who had somehow lost the Irish guys.
Once back inside, they did have to pay the cover charge and we couldn't recover the original girls, so Allyn began hunting for another duo, whom he soon found in a couple of sisters from London, Allyn hitting on the younger of the two as I spoke (distracted) the elder, "Fuck drinks are expensive here," she said, "the pound is equal to the euro and a shot back home is 1 Pound and here it's 5 Euros, and this drink," she said holding up the drink, "was 8.70 Euros, where it'd be 3 Pounds back home!" We talked more on this sort of thing as I was interested to hear the differences as I had heard London to be quite expensive - and amongst this we lost Gideon and Adam again. This girl - Lucy - had a boyfriend who, for some reason or another, was not with her this eve, which I thought odd. I told her about Anna and how I wished she was there and Lucy thoughtthat sucked that we had to be so far apart. Turns out Amy - the younger sister - was also involved with someone, despite her overt flirtation with Allyn and the barkeep, "Do you want me to help you clean up?" she asked, grabbing the rag and wiping the counter. I suppressed a laugh and Allyn and I bid farewells to the girls in search of our comrades and a proper pub.
"So they both had boyfriends, those bitches!" he said.
"Not really. THey just wanted to meet people, too." I said back.
"I gues it's okay for you, and very smooth on bringing up your girl." I shrugged, it was a conversational topic. We soon ran into this Italian man with a guitar and I bothered him to play it and he handed it over, so I accosted the audience with "Wonderwall" and "Hallelujah" to uproarus, drunken applause. We then gained the company of an Aussie couple from Adelaide, the girl of which - Jane - tried to kiss me as I played guitar but I expertly maneuvered away. She did, however, catch me twice off guard, the first outside a pub when we were deciding where to go and I scolded her calmly telling her about Anna and then she did it again as they left our company, fascilitating my happiness to leave their company. I told her that that wasn't cool as I had already told her not to and had just been, in fact, on the phone to Anna, and she knew that. I walked back with Allyn to the hostel in a light huff. By the time I got back to the hostel it was 4:45am and I chatted with Allyn for some time before I got my bags and headed for the bus, wishing fond farewells to Allyn and his sleeping bretheren, "It's a shame we can't be everyday friends after this. I was discussing that with the others." he said and I nodded and smiled, "See you again soon." I said and went down to farewell the staff and hit the road for the last time to the bus stop, still swaying with drink. I soon got on the bus and ordered McDonald's breakfast at the airport waiting for my check-in to start - which I did expertly soberly despite the head full of liquor.
"Where're you headed?" asked a tall Asian man.
"Canada. For study." I said, concentrating on the words, holding my head sleepily.
"Oh, that's cool. I'm heading home to Chicago."
"Awesome."
"You in coach?"
"Yeah, you?"
"Well, I can get an upgrade to business. If you like, I could get you one too?" An alarm bell went off in my head and I didn't know what to say, "Umm...thanks...we'll see once I get to the check-in gate."
"Okay, cool. My name's JT."
"Jordan." and we shook hands. As I got to the security checkpoint, JT in front of me, he went through first and I waved him off and his suspicious offer of a free upgrade.
As I sat in the airport I was overcome with a sensation of anxiety and fear that this was my final leg of this trip. Once it was over, I was going to LIVE in another country for four months. The fact that I was tired, coming down off of drink and felt I had wronged Anna through no fault of my own didn't help and I called her and told her about everything and she soothed and calmed me. But things happen, life goes on.
I slept most of the eight and a half hour flight to Chicago and, after dealing with US customs and immigration, got onto my small charter plane to Montreal, which was not full and allowed me to not have a seat mate.
I was finally in the Great White North, I thought to myself as the planded landed in the -15 C cold, and who knows what awaits me here. And all I could pay attention to from the air was the lighly snow covered ground below.
- from the Journal, 31st December 2008 and 1st January 2009.
Chapter 20: New Friends
I awoke at 4:30am to hear the American roommates discussing their night out, "Dude, where's Gideon?" Adam asked.
"He went home with a girl." Allyn said.
"No way! Good for him."
I then slept until 10am and got up in bed to ask the smelly Englishman drunkard for the time who then proceeded to tell me all sorts of ways to survive by finding water in the Australian desert, "And you drink the water out of the frog's pouch." And so I ask again for the time, saying I need breakfast and he says, "10:15, you may have missed it." Yeah, because of you!
"No, it finished at 10:30." I say instead and go downstairs and eat.
I spend most of that morning on the phone with Anna and my parents and at around midday and a half I hit the road for the Jameson Distillery. Walking in, the distilled smell of Jameson's honey and vanilla hits you and then you are met with a hundred bottle wall of the stuff at the bar. As the tour began the guide asked for volunteers and I raised my hand and received a small cardboard tube, "These are important, keep them for later." As the tour went on we saw a stuffed cat sitting up above us, "Moe used to average 23 mice per day, so they honoured him when he died by stuffing him and keeping him in the distillery." We passed into the next room and there was a small tasting barrel of malted barley, which tasted strangely like buttered popcorn. At the end of the tour, us volunteers were informed that we would get to taste 2 other whiskeys on top of our free glass of Jameson. The 2 others were Johnny Walker Red Label 12 Years, which is a Scotch Whiskey, distilled twice, and the othe was an American Whiskey, or Bourbon, Jack Daniels Black Label, distilled only once. Jameson is distilled 3 times. The Scotch was too smokey and tasted only of woodfire smoke and the American was too watery. Jameson tasted best and had the best smell - like vanilla and honey. At the end of the public tasting they presented us with "Official Whiskey Tasters" certificates, "That you can keep safe in your cardboard tubes." The guide said, smiling, giving us also our complementary glass of Jameson.
When I left the distillery I realised that I had had 4 shots of whiskey before - here I checked my watch - before 3pm on very little in my stomach. I wandered down Purnell street til I hit this small Italian place which served a range for relatively cheap. In there I conversed briefly with a mother of two about travelling and journal writing and soon left for the hostel.
As I got in, I met the Americans in the lobby and we decided to head out to the pub where I met Ross the barkeep. When we arrived the placed was packed and Ross put us at a pivate table just up the stairs and we ordered Guiness and Irish stew. We spent our time talking about girls - me bringing up Anna at everything - music and our various injuries.
"You're wise beyond your years." Allyn said when I told him I was 20, he being 24 and Adam being 22, unsure of Gideon's age, but likely in the same range. We soon left there at around 9:30pm and went back to the hostel to chill.
Allyn was set on going out again as he had failed to pick up the previous night, "I just have to!" he said. I felt too tired to hit the town anyway, considering how the following night would be, but Adam went out with him. I stayed in and just lazed before going to bed around midnight.
- from the Journal, 30th December 2008.
"He went home with a girl." Allyn said.
"No way! Good for him."
I then slept until 10am and got up in bed to ask the smelly Englishman drunkard for the time who then proceeded to tell me all sorts of ways to survive by finding water in the Australian desert, "And you drink the water out of the frog's pouch." And so I ask again for the time, saying I need breakfast and he says, "10:15, you may have missed it." Yeah, because of you!
"No, it finished at 10:30." I say instead and go downstairs and eat.
I spend most of that morning on the phone with Anna and my parents and at around midday and a half I hit the road for the Jameson Distillery. Walking in, the distilled smell of Jameson's honey and vanilla hits you and then you are met with a hundred bottle wall of the stuff at the bar. As the tour began the guide asked for volunteers and I raised my hand and received a small cardboard tube, "These are important, keep them for later." As the tour went on we saw a stuffed cat sitting up above us, "Moe used to average 23 mice per day, so they honoured him when he died by stuffing him and keeping him in the distillery." We passed into the next room and there was a small tasting barrel of malted barley, which tasted strangely like buttered popcorn. At the end of the tour, us volunteers were informed that we would get to taste 2 other whiskeys on top of our free glass of Jameson. The 2 others were Johnny Walker Red Label 12 Years, which is a Scotch Whiskey, distilled twice, and the othe was an American Whiskey, or Bourbon, Jack Daniels Black Label, distilled only once. Jameson is distilled 3 times. The Scotch was too smokey and tasted only of woodfire smoke and the American was too watery. Jameson tasted best and had the best smell - like vanilla and honey. At the end of the public tasting they presented us with "Official Whiskey Tasters" certificates, "That you can keep safe in your cardboard tubes." The guide said, smiling, giving us also our complementary glass of Jameson.
When I left the distillery I realised that I had had 4 shots of whiskey before - here I checked my watch - before 3pm on very little in my stomach. I wandered down Purnell street til I hit this small Italian place which served a range for relatively cheap. In there I conversed briefly with a mother of two about travelling and journal writing and soon left for the hostel.
As I got in, I met the Americans in the lobby and we decided to head out to the pub where I met Ross the barkeep. When we arrived the placed was packed and Ross put us at a pivate table just up the stairs and we ordered Guiness and Irish stew. We spent our time talking about girls - me bringing up Anna at everything - music and our various injuries.
"You're wise beyond your years." Allyn said when I told him I was 20, he being 24 and Adam being 22, unsure of Gideon's age, but likely in the same range. We soon left there at around 9:30pm and went back to the hostel to chill.
Allyn was set on going out again as he had failed to pick up the previous night, "I just have to!" he said. I felt too tired to hit the town anyway, considering how the following night would be, but Adam went out with him. I stayed in and just lazed before going to bed around midnight.
- from the Journal, 30th December 2008.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Chapter 19: Jumping into Life as Poetry
"oh boy oh boyohboyoh boy oh boy..." This was the sound I awoke to, "Fuck...aww shit..." as the new drunkard roommate climbed off his bunkbed, "breakfast...yeah, breakfast...I gotta ask them." and then he slammed the door. I got up some minutes later - as my silent, religious roommate opened the blinds onto the dawning Dublin morning - and took another cold shower. I went down to breakfast and ate with James, Luca and Fabio again and made plans to see Fabio at 2:30pm to go see the national gallery, and then I set off towards my day.
I took the walk down the bustling Dublin streets to Kilmainham Gaol, the oldest prison in Dublin/Ireland, where all the leaders of the Easter Uprising of 1916 were housed and executed. Walking through the dark, musty hallways, across the echoing, cold, stone floow, knowing that 158 men had taken this path as their final steps was strangely haunting. But it was also grandiose as we entered the main hall - built in 1860 - where the film "In the Name of the Father" was shot and I was walking the same ground as Daniel Day Lewis and Peter Posthelwait was very cool. We even walked the ground where those leaders' blood was spilled in the stonebreaking yard.
When I left, the cold had become more biting and I felt it chrystallise my bones and I was hungry so on the way I found a place that served an all day breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, toast, beans and white pudding. I ate that and soon left after a group of roudy Irish youths entered the place and began to talk loudly.
When I arrived back at the hostel I still had an hour to wait for Fabio and so I fell asleep on the front room couches reading Kerouac's "Lonesome Traveller".
Pretty soon - or so it seemed - I was awoken by Fabio's moustachioed face and an older Brazillian woman named Christina saying, "Let's go." We walked through the brisk air to the national gallery, seeing traditional Irish art from the 17th and 18th Centuries and some Italian art - some REAL Caravaggios! After seeing as much art as we could take, we left and began the walk back - it has gotten colder still. We stopped in on an Irish music store and soon continued on our walk, but Fabio left us as he had to be back at the hostel. Christina and I continued our walk, steopping in various stores, and she soon began detailing the intimate details of her life to me, "I met this Irish man Patrick at the hostel 4 days after I arrived," she said in her thick Brazillian accent, "and he has quite a good body for his age, you know? He's 65 and I'm 46, but he is very sweet. But there are some problems, you know? Like, he is a very PASSIONATE man, very sweet, he writes poetry, you know? So we are getting INtimate and he does not getting too hard, you know? So when I try to blow him, you know, to suck him, he goes, "No! No! Don't do that!" and we haven't even had sex yet! So I ask him, "When did you first go to bed with a woman?" you know what he answer me? 38."
My jaw visibly dropped, "I know!" she exclaims, "But he is also very Catholic man. But he tease me, you know? He say "You're serpant!" and he laugh. He was cheap - he never went shopping with a woman before me, you know? But now he spends more...only a little. But I ask too, what do you do with your day? "Get up, breakfast, read the paper." he says. He's very cultured, but mostly about Ireland, so what do you about NZ? Australia? Canada? "Nothing" he says. So what do you know? I ask. He lives a very sad, lonely life, and I told him so. But do you think he likes me?" She was very all-over-the-place but very sweet.
On our way back to the hostel Christina says, "I'm hungry, I need to eat. I know a place, but you can't tell anyone, okat?" So I nodded. We head down O'Connell street to one of its crossroads and take the right fork and then down the first alley of Earl Street. We head down the darkened alley to a place where a light was on over a doorway and people in blue uniforms were standing around outside smoking and having a chat, "Oh, so when we walk in," she said, "don't say a word and just do what I do. Everyone will be wearing the same blue uniforms."
"Christina, what is this place?"
"It's the terminal where the bus drivers eat," she said, "it's cheap and you really gotta be in the know to know about it. Now, if anyone asks you, my father used to work here, and you're my nephew here learning English." I nod.
To say the least, it was intimidating walking into that room of red-faced, blue uniformed Irish people, who, when they looked up to see who had enetered, expected to see a familiar face and instead found my curls.
"They know me now, I think, I come here a bit. Get a table." We put our things on a table and get our trays and gather up a buffet meal and I swear on my own, 7.50 Euros for a drink, a hot meal (pork chops, beans, mashed potatoes and whatever else), salad and a tea or coffee. We eat our meals in silence and soon move off back to the hostel, "Yeah, it was cheap," I said, "but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't intimidating walking in there." We soon got back to the hostel and I told her about past loves that had messed me around (not mentioning any names - we don't have to be cruel, do we?) and about Anna and how I thought she was "the girl of my dreams" and "the One" and she smiled. She showed me one of Patrick's poems and it was contrite and obvious to say the least, but when I showed her mine she laughed and said she liked them. She then wrote one for me, off the top of her head, written in Portuguese and then translated;
"The Boy"
Your curly hair
sparkling, reflecting -
reflection.
It spreads such a peace
that comes inside you.
That comes from you -
and angel.
Your skim, very white
your eyes with a deep
blue reminds me of an ocean.
Huge, empty, full, finite,
unlimited.
Lots of emotions.
Your calmly speaking, at
the same time, exciting
reminds me a little
boy, playing joyfully
in a big garden.
Without worries, happy
no thoughts, no needs,
no words, no yes,
no no.
Flowing, unique, eloquent.
Suddenly a light breeze
passes by
An ocean smell, at
the end of a hot
summer afternoon
Relieves...
- to be continued -
She wrote wryly on the page, "It's not trying to seduce you." She clarified.
"I know," I said, "from one writer to another." And she cried as she read it as it was her first poem since her mother died and she had torn up her 100 poems.
Soon Christina left to help another Brazillian with something and I found myself chewing on my journal. I look over and see the blonde girl I had seen upon entering the hostel the first day on the opposite couch laughing, "What?" I ask.
"Does it taste good?" she asked.
"Yeah, great, totally better than your Diet Coke and celery." I said, nodding to the tall bottle of Diet Coke and large packet of celery. She laughed. Turns out she's from Holland, over for Christmas break with her two friends Tantiva and Natasha. She was Milu. We spoke for some times on our travels and our studies before they soon had to head to the airport back home. I spent some times on the phone with Anna and talking with Will down in the dinner room listening to the Dubliners before I went to bed at 11:30pm.
- from the Journal 29th December, 2008.
I took the walk down the bustling Dublin streets to Kilmainham Gaol, the oldest prison in Dublin/Ireland, where all the leaders of the Easter Uprising of 1916 were housed and executed. Walking through the dark, musty hallways, across the echoing, cold, stone floow, knowing that 158 men had taken this path as their final steps was strangely haunting. But it was also grandiose as we entered the main hall - built in 1860 - where the film "In the Name of the Father" was shot and I was walking the same ground as Daniel Day Lewis and Peter Posthelwait was very cool. We even walked the ground where those leaders' blood was spilled in the stonebreaking yard.
When I left, the cold had become more biting and I felt it chrystallise my bones and I was hungry so on the way I found a place that served an all day breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausages, mushrooms, toast, beans and white pudding. I ate that and soon left after a group of roudy Irish youths entered the place and began to talk loudly.
When I arrived back at the hostel I still had an hour to wait for Fabio and so I fell asleep on the front room couches reading Kerouac's "Lonesome Traveller".
Pretty soon - or so it seemed - I was awoken by Fabio's moustachioed face and an older Brazillian woman named Christina saying, "Let's go." We walked through the brisk air to the national gallery, seeing traditional Irish art from the 17th and 18th Centuries and some Italian art - some REAL Caravaggios! After seeing as much art as we could take, we left and began the walk back - it has gotten colder still. We stopped in on an Irish music store and soon continued on our walk, but Fabio left us as he had to be back at the hostel. Christina and I continued our walk, steopping in various stores, and she soon began detailing the intimate details of her life to me, "I met this Irish man Patrick at the hostel 4 days after I arrived," she said in her thick Brazillian accent, "and he has quite a good body for his age, you know? He's 65 and I'm 46, but he is very sweet. But there are some problems, you know? Like, he is a very PASSIONATE man, very sweet, he writes poetry, you know? So we are getting INtimate and he does not getting too hard, you know? So when I try to blow him, you know, to suck him, he goes, "No! No! Don't do that!" and we haven't even had sex yet! So I ask him, "When did you first go to bed with a woman?" you know what he answer me? 38."
My jaw visibly dropped, "I know!" she exclaims, "But he is also very Catholic man. But he tease me, you know? He say "You're serpant!" and he laugh. He was cheap - he never went shopping with a woman before me, you know? But now he spends more...only a little. But I ask too, what do you do with your day? "Get up, breakfast, read the paper." he says. He's very cultured, but mostly about Ireland, so what do you about NZ? Australia? Canada? "Nothing" he says. So what do you know? I ask. He lives a very sad, lonely life, and I told him so. But do you think he likes me?" She was very all-over-the-place but very sweet.
On our way back to the hostel Christina says, "I'm hungry, I need to eat. I know a place, but you can't tell anyone, okat?" So I nodded. We head down O'Connell street to one of its crossroads and take the right fork and then down the first alley of Earl Street. We head down the darkened alley to a place where a light was on over a doorway and people in blue uniforms were standing around outside smoking and having a chat, "Oh, so when we walk in," she said, "don't say a word and just do what I do. Everyone will be wearing the same blue uniforms."
"Christina, what is this place?"
"It's the terminal where the bus drivers eat," she said, "it's cheap and you really gotta be in the know to know about it. Now, if anyone asks you, my father used to work here, and you're my nephew here learning English." I nod.
To say the least, it was intimidating walking into that room of red-faced, blue uniformed Irish people, who, when they looked up to see who had enetered, expected to see a familiar face and instead found my curls.
"They know me now, I think, I come here a bit. Get a table." We put our things on a table and get our trays and gather up a buffet meal and I swear on my own, 7.50 Euros for a drink, a hot meal (pork chops, beans, mashed potatoes and whatever else), salad and a tea or coffee. We eat our meals in silence and soon move off back to the hostel, "Yeah, it was cheap," I said, "but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't intimidating walking in there." We soon got back to the hostel and I told her about past loves that had messed me around (not mentioning any names - we don't have to be cruel, do we?) and about Anna and how I thought she was "the girl of my dreams" and "the One" and she smiled. She showed me one of Patrick's poems and it was contrite and obvious to say the least, but when I showed her mine she laughed and said she liked them. She then wrote one for me, off the top of her head, written in Portuguese and then translated;
"The Boy"
Your curly hair
sparkling, reflecting -
reflection.
It spreads such a peace
that comes inside you.
That comes from you -
and angel.
Your skim, very white
your eyes with a deep
blue reminds me of an ocean.
Huge, empty, full, finite,
unlimited.
Lots of emotions.
Your calmly speaking, at
the same time, exciting
reminds me a little
boy, playing joyfully
in a big garden.
Without worries, happy
no thoughts, no needs,
no words, no yes,
no no.
Flowing, unique, eloquent.
Suddenly a light breeze
passes by
An ocean smell, at
the end of a hot
summer afternoon
Relieves...
- to be continued -
She wrote wryly on the page, "It's not trying to seduce you." She clarified.
"I know," I said, "from one writer to another." And she cried as she read it as it was her first poem since her mother died and she had torn up her 100 poems.
Soon Christina left to help another Brazillian with something and I found myself chewing on my journal. I look over and see the blonde girl I had seen upon entering the hostel the first day on the opposite couch laughing, "What?" I ask.
"Does it taste good?" she asked.
"Yeah, great, totally better than your Diet Coke and celery." I said, nodding to the tall bottle of Diet Coke and large packet of celery. She laughed. Turns out she's from Holland, over for Christmas break with her two friends Tantiva and Natasha. She was Milu. We spoke for some times on our travels and our studies before they soon had to head to the airport back home. I spent some times on the phone with Anna and talking with Will down in the dinner room listening to the Dubliners before I went to bed at 11:30pm.
- from the Journal 29th December, 2008.
Chapter 18: Guiness Times, Good Times
I awoke at 9:15 and went to shower, to discover that the hot water wasn't working and was forced to take a very unsatisfying cold shower. I went down to breakfast and ate amongst James, Ben and Fabio (yes, his real name) - another Italian. I made plans to meet with Fabio at 1pm at the hostel and went off to wander the city. As the James Joyce center was closed, along with the Bad Art gallery, I headed up to the Guiness Storehouse. The tour was interesting, and took us step by step through the history and brewing process of Guiness beer in Ireland - which included tasting a sample of the dried barley that goes into the beer. Up the many flights of stairs lay the advertising centre (containing all the old and new avertising material for Guiness), the tasting lab and finally the "Pour Your Own Guiness" table. I poured my own perfect stout and recieved a certificate to the effect. I sat at the nearby bar and drank my beer next to an American from Illinois and a Canadian from Newfoundland. We chatted briefly about why we were in Dubline and what we were doing in our lives before I came to a brief pause, "Now I think of it," I said, "I didn't eat anything except for pints of Guiness and an Irish stew yesterday." And I laughed.
"That's very Irish of you." She, the Canadian, said.
"Well, when in Rome...or...Dublin...: I said, smiling and raised my glass. I soon left them and went to the shop and got some tourist goods and began the trip home when I checked my watch - I was very late. After getting a little lost in downtown, I finally made it back to the hostel and Fabio was nowhere to be found. I waited and decided to get some eats and then returned and sat in the kitchen hall. I figured I wouldn't go out this afternoon and just kill some time until 7pm when I would go on the literary Pub Crawl of Dublin.
Decided not to hit the pub crawl and ended up drinking in the basement with French people - William and his siste Anne-Celine.
We soon left and hit the town at a pub called Sin-E where they were serving 3 Euro pints of Guiness. We sat at a small wooden table by candle light and chatted as the old school funk, blues, jazz and soul music got louder. In the empty dancebloor a girl - blonde wearing a blue dress and excessive neck jewellery - began dancing on her own, "Reckon I should go dance with her?" I asked, "I feel like dancing."
"You got nothing to lose." William said. So I walked over to her, "May I have this dance?" I asked.
"You may!" she said, extending her hand and I took it and we danced random improvised foot-tapping twirling side-stepping crazy dances to the music. She was one of those girls who spasms and moves all herself to the music crazily. Turns out she was from the Czech Republic and her friends are celebrating a wedding downstairs and her boyfriend doesn't dance, "My girlfriend does," I said, "I wish she was here." and she smiled, "That's sweet." When the music finished, the girl went to go join her friends again, "Thank you for the dance," she said, "You're the best improviser I've ever danced with, it was great!"
"It was my pleasure." and I sat back down. Pretty soon the whole floor erupted into dance as popular, classic songs like "Play that Funky Music White Boy" and "Hit the Road Jack" began to play and I hit the dancefloor again, dancing with anyone, from anywhere, male or female.
At around 1am I was tired and I decided to head back to the hostel.
Now I think about it, Anna used to say that a dance wasn't always sexual, and I thought I knew what she meant when I danced with that girl. Retrospectively, it was sexual and that's when I should've picked that something was wrong.
I fell into bed around 1:30am.
- from the Journal 28th December, 2008
"That's very Irish of you." She, the Canadian, said.
"Well, when in Rome...or...Dublin...: I said, smiling and raised my glass. I soon left them and went to the shop and got some tourist goods and began the trip home when I checked my watch - I was very late. After getting a little lost in downtown, I finally made it back to the hostel and Fabio was nowhere to be found. I waited and decided to get some eats and then returned and sat in the kitchen hall. I figured I wouldn't go out this afternoon and just kill some time until 7pm when I would go on the literary Pub Crawl of Dublin.
Decided not to hit the pub crawl and ended up drinking in the basement with French people - William and his siste Anne-Celine.
We soon left and hit the town at a pub called Sin-E where they were serving 3 Euro pints of Guiness. We sat at a small wooden table by candle light and chatted as the old school funk, blues, jazz and soul music got louder. In the empty dancebloor a girl - blonde wearing a blue dress and excessive neck jewellery - began dancing on her own, "Reckon I should go dance with her?" I asked, "I feel like dancing."
"You got nothing to lose." William said. So I walked over to her, "May I have this dance?" I asked.
"You may!" she said, extending her hand and I took it and we danced random improvised foot-tapping twirling side-stepping crazy dances to the music. She was one of those girls who spasms and moves all herself to the music crazily. Turns out she was from the Czech Republic and her friends are celebrating a wedding downstairs and her boyfriend doesn't dance, "My girlfriend does," I said, "I wish she was here." and she smiled, "That's sweet." When the music finished, the girl went to go join her friends again, "Thank you for the dance," she said, "You're the best improviser I've ever danced with, it was great!"
"It was my pleasure." and I sat back down. Pretty soon the whole floor erupted into dance as popular, classic songs like "Play that Funky Music White Boy" and "Hit the Road Jack" began to play and I hit the dancefloor again, dancing with anyone, from anywhere, male or female.
At around 1am I was tired and I decided to head back to the hostel.
Now I think about it, Anna used to say that a dance wasn't always sexual, and I thought I knew what she meant when I danced with that girl. Retrospectively, it was sexual and that's when I should've picked that something was wrong.
I fell into bed around 1:30am.
- from the Journal 28th December, 2008
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Chapter 17: The Playboy of the Western World
Today I got up at 8:30 to eat breakfast and fast made friends with a Brit from Zimbabwe, 3 Quebecois, a Frenchman from Montpellier and 2 Aussie boys from Melbourne. I headed out at 9:45ish and visited the Garden of Remembrance, which probably would have meant a lot more to me if could have read the original Gaelic and not the English translation. I then spent the next, like, half day in the Dublin Writers' Museum, looking at information on Yeats, Shaw, Wilde, Swift and many many others, and even attending a small performance to bring some of the work and the authors to life by a small Irish performer who had clearly failed on stage and had resorted to this kind of work. I left at around 3:30 and went to a pub to get lunch and a pint of Guiness - lunch being a traditional Irish stew of meat and potatoes. As I sat there for 2 hours, even the barkeep's eyes were glues to the TV, where two football teams shook hands after their victory/defeat - depends on whose side you're on - witnessing some true sportsmanship; like friends playing a game. The coaster for the beer has an ad for "Designated Drivers Get Soft Drinks Free!" A man passed by with a "40 Today" badge on and I wished him a happy birthday and he thanked me in a thick Irish accent. Everyone who walks into the pubs stops for a moment to watch the game. Guiness does drive the creative mind.
I left the pub at 5pm and began meandering around the city just exploring the cobblestone streets and small alleys of Dublin. I found a small bookshop where I bought some traditional Irish Literature, accompanying the book and 2 CDs of Irish music I have bought at the Writers' Museum. I ended up by the River Liffrey at around 6:45pm and found my way to the Abbey Theatre and impulsively decided to buy a ticket to the main showing of that evening, which happened to be a classically famous Irish play which had opened at the Abbey in 1907 - accompanied by many riots - and had now been contemporized for the 21st Century Irish audience - "The Playboy of the Western World".
"I'd like one student please." I said to the lady behind the glass.
"We sell the tickets by where you sit, dear." she said.
"Alright," I said, "how much are the tickets?"
"There's 50 euro, 35 euro, 25 euro and 15 euro." and she pointed out each section as she named the price. It took some deliberation between 15 and 25 and in the end I went for 25 because I'd rather sacrifice the extra coin for a good seat.
The play began at 7:30pm and so I decided to have a pint at the pub across the road to kill some time. Iwalked in and the place was dankly lit and was hewn from intricate wood carving and exposed brick.
"A pint of cider, please." I asked the barkeep and he served up the golden ale. After a few minutes of sitting alone, the barkeep struck up a conversation, "So, where you travelling from?"
"Australia." I said.
"Ah, far across the world," he said in his thick Irish accent, "You a Guiness man?" he asked and I nodded. He smiled, "Only Guiness drinkers order the cider - when they're not in the mood for a pint o' Guiness. You seein' the show tonight?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the The Abbey, and I nodded again, "You should come back here after," he said, "the actors come in here every night after the show."
"Really?" he nodded, "then you sold me," I said, "I'll see you after the show." I looked down at my watch, "I should get going, I'll see you soon...what's your name?"
"Ross." he said, extending his hand.
"Jordan." and we shook.
Once you're in the theatre, you realize there ARE no bad seats. I was in a far corner on one of the wings in the middle, and I still had a perfect view of the stage. The play itself was fantastic, well acted, and the script well adapted for modern times - though I admit it took a great deal of effort to not analyse the performance according to the guidelines set out by my Performance Studies courses.
When it was finished I headed back over to the pub and sat down to a drink with a married couple I met in the pub as I discussed the show with them and Ross the Barkeep. He was Syl(vester) and was from Dublin, and she was Gretchen the English Teacher at Cambridge from Boston. We sat and discussed at length literature and the literary history of Dublin, Steve Irwin, Australia and snaked and the hot and the cold.
"I've always wanted to go to Australia," she said, "but I'm just afraid of running into snakes."
"You won't unless you leave the city and into the bush." I reassured her.
"You have an accent that isn't really Australian, though." Gretchen said, almost enquiringly.
"Well, it's a mongrel accent. I'm originally Canadian." I said.
"See, I'd've picked Canadian or American first, but every couple of words is very Australian." she said.
"Really? I'd've picked Aussie right away." Said Syl.
After some time they left the pub to find something to eat and I continued chatting with Ross when Joe, one of the actors from the play, walked in and ordered a beer right beside me.
"You were in the play just then, weren't you?"
"Yeah, I was."
"Man, I wanna thank you. That was a great performance."
"Yeah, I do a good drunk." and we laughed. We ended up chatting for several hours on acting and Dublin and everything. I even ranted about Anna to him, "I think I managed to get the prettiest girl in Australia." I said and he smiled as I showed him a picture of her, "How old is she?" he asked.
"21." I said and he smiled and tapped his glass on the counter and took a drink, "What?" I asked.
"Fuck you both and your youth. I'm 43." he said jovially, smiling and taking a drink.
"Another round." he told Ross and I took my wallet out to pay mine and he waved it aside, "Kepp it. This is on me." he said. I thank him and we continued talking. I told him I wanted to be an actor as well and he looked to the ceiling, "Not another actor! Another fool joins our ranks! You poor bastard." he smiled, "Nah, I wouldn't rather be doing anything else, I love it."
At around 1:30 he left and we shook hands, "Jordan, it was great to meet you. Thank you so much." And I obliged with a similar comment. I finished my pint and left the pub, stumbling back to the hostel, getting there at quarter to two, walking in on James the Australian rocking out on acoustic bass with Salvo the Italian, who was on steel string acoustic guitar. I joined their ranks and we all proceeded to jam until quarter to three when we all finally decided to get to bed.
- from the Journal, 27th December 2008
I left the pub at 5pm and began meandering around the city just exploring the cobblestone streets and small alleys of Dublin. I found a small bookshop where I bought some traditional Irish Literature, accompanying the book and 2 CDs of Irish music I have bought at the Writers' Museum. I ended up by the River Liffrey at around 6:45pm and found my way to the Abbey Theatre and impulsively decided to buy a ticket to the main showing of that evening, which happened to be a classically famous Irish play which had opened at the Abbey in 1907 - accompanied by many riots - and had now been contemporized for the 21st Century Irish audience - "The Playboy of the Western World".
"I'd like one student please." I said to the lady behind the glass.
"We sell the tickets by where you sit, dear." she said.
"Alright," I said, "how much are the tickets?"
"There's 50 euro, 35 euro, 25 euro and 15 euro." and she pointed out each section as she named the price. It took some deliberation between 15 and 25 and in the end I went for 25 because I'd rather sacrifice the extra coin for a good seat.
The play began at 7:30pm and so I decided to have a pint at the pub across the road to kill some time. Iwalked in and the place was dankly lit and was hewn from intricate wood carving and exposed brick.
"A pint of cider, please." I asked the barkeep and he served up the golden ale. After a few minutes of sitting alone, the barkeep struck up a conversation, "So, where you travelling from?"
"Australia." I said.
"Ah, far across the world," he said in his thick Irish accent, "You a Guiness man?" he asked and I nodded. He smiled, "Only Guiness drinkers order the cider - when they're not in the mood for a pint o' Guiness. You seein' the show tonight?" he asked, nodding in the direction of the The Abbey, and I nodded again, "You should come back here after," he said, "the actors come in here every night after the show."
"Really?" he nodded, "then you sold me," I said, "I'll see you after the show." I looked down at my watch, "I should get going, I'll see you soon...what's your name?"
"Ross." he said, extending his hand.
"Jordan." and we shook.
Once you're in the theatre, you realize there ARE no bad seats. I was in a far corner on one of the wings in the middle, and I still had a perfect view of the stage. The play itself was fantastic, well acted, and the script well adapted for modern times - though I admit it took a great deal of effort to not analyse the performance according to the guidelines set out by my Performance Studies courses.
When it was finished I headed back over to the pub and sat down to a drink with a married couple I met in the pub as I discussed the show with them and Ross the Barkeep. He was Syl(vester) and was from Dublin, and she was Gretchen the English Teacher at Cambridge from Boston. We sat and discussed at length literature and the literary history of Dublin, Steve Irwin, Australia and snaked and the hot and the cold.
"I've always wanted to go to Australia," she said, "but I'm just afraid of running into snakes."
"You won't unless you leave the city and into the bush." I reassured her.
"You have an accent that isn't really Australian, though." Gretchen said, almost enquiringly.
"Well, it's a mongrel accent. I'm originally Canadian." I said.
"See, I'd've picked Canadian or American first, but every couple of words is very Australian." she said.
"Really? I'd've picked Aussie right away." Said Syl.
After some time they left the pub to find something to eat and I continued chatting with Ross when Joe, one of the actors from the play, walked in and ordered a beer right beside me.
"You were in the play just then, weren't you?"
"Yeah, I was."
"Man, I wanna thank you. That was a great performance."
"Yeah, I do a good drunk." and we laughed. We ended up chatting for several hours on acting and Dublin and everything. I even ranted about Anna to him, "I think I managed to get the prettiest girl in Australia." I said and he smiled as I showed him a picture of her, "How old is she?" he asked.
"21." I said and he smiled and tapped his glass on the counter and took a drink, "What?" I asked.
"Fuck you both and your youth. I'm 43." he said jovially, smiling and taking a drink.
"Another round." he told Ross and I took my wallet out to pay mine and he waved it aside, "Kepp it. This is on me." he said. I thank him and we continued talking. I told him I wanted to be an actor as well and he looked to the ceiling, "Not another actor! Another fool joins our ranks! You poor bastard." he smiled, "Nah, I wouldn't rather be doing anything else, I love it."
At around 1:30 he left and we shook hands, "Jordan, it was great to meet you. Thank you so much." And I obliged with a similar comment. I finished my pint and left the pub, stumbling back to the hostel, getting there at quarter to two, walking in on James the Australian rocking out on acoustic bass with Salvo the Italian, who was on steel string acoustic guitar. I joined their ranks and we all proceeded to jam until quarter to three when we all finally decided to get to bed.
- from the Journal, 27th December 2008
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Chapter 16: Boxing Day and Ireland
I awoke at 10:30 and showered and packed my bags and checked out of the hotel and headed off to the airport terminal to check in for the flight. On the way I got caught up in a conversation with a man with an obvious mental disorder who was from Belgium and I envisioned Guilhem having a field day. I got to my terminal, checked in and went to the gate and waited til it was time to board.
As the plane took off, I couldn't help but feel, as the sun smoothed my face, that it was the last time I'd feel French sun for a while.
As we landed, the cloud cover was heavier and I made it out of the airport as the sun set and took the bus and tram and walked to my hostel. I checked in - noticing the workers were all South American or Australian - and dropped my things in a locker. I was starving, so I left the hostel in search of food. I hit the small pub at the end of Mountjoy St (the hostel's st) and asked if they did food. They did not. So, I did the thing that any self-respecting person would do - I ordered a pint of Guiness and a packed of peanuts, enjoying the atmosphere in the pub as people watched the football (soccer) to cheers of "come on" and "you bastards!"
By the time I left there, I was stumbling as I walked and slowly made my way back to the hostel to ask for a good place to eat. I ended up getting a kebab from a nearby shop. I got back to the hostel and, bored, went to bed at 9pm, only to be awoken repeatedly by the Israelis - who snored like fucking DEMONS and caused me much unrest - and the thoughtless black guy, from Nigeria, turning on lights and banging locker doors.
- from the Journal, Dec. 26th 2008
As the plane took off, I couldn't help but feel, as the sun smoothed my face, that it was the last time I'd feel French sun for a while.
As we landed, the cloud cover was heavier and I made it out of the airport as the sun set and took the bus and tram and walked to my hostel. I checked in - noticing the workers were all South American or Australian - and dropped my things in a locker. I was starving, so I left the hostel in search of food. I hit the small pub at the end of Mountjoy St (the hostel's st) and asked if they did food. They did not. So, I did the thing that any self-respecting person would do - I ordered a pint of Guiness and a packed of peanuts, enjoying the atmosphere in the pub as people watched the football (soccer) to cheers of "come on" and "you bastards!"
By the time I left there, I was stumbling as I walked and slowly made my way back to the hostel to ask for a good place to eat. I ended up getting a kebab from a nearby shop. I got back to the hostel and, bored, went to bed at 9pm, only to be awoken repeatedly by the Israelis - who snored like fucking DEMONS and caused me much unrest - and the thoughtless black guy, from Nigeria, turning on lights and banging locker doors.
- from the Journal, Dec. 26th 2008
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Chapter 15: Christmas Day; Fuck-Ups, Trains and Hotel Rooms: All Roads Lead to Paris
The next day we awoke early and headed down to breakfast. When you stay in a rich person's home, you expect rich people to act a certain way. And these ones did. But I suppose once you have a self-designed and -built house of 13 bedrooms and an open floor plan, I guess it happens. They have a very strict "look with your eyes, not with your hands" policy for children and decorations and I came down in the morning to a bit of a stereotype of the architect father working on some drawings with his glasses on, listening to classical music which echoed through the many rooms of the ground (and upper) floor. We ate bits of breakfast cake and fruit and soon it was time for goodbyes and off to the train station at Avignon for me - for I had changed my ticket so it would be easier for them to drop me off at Avignon station, rather than drive all the way back to Montpellier.
After Annie and Guilhem dropped me at the train station, I began to chill out. I noticed my train was on platform 4 so I went over and there was a train sitting there. As I got on I asked a man, "This train goes to Paris, right?" and he looks at me and says, "No." as the doors to the train close with a sudden thump. My heart, stomach and brain sunk into a delirious stupor. I had gotten on the wrong train. I looked at my watch - I don't know what I was thinking when I got on, my proper train didn't even ARRIVE at Avignon for another 20 minutes and was supposed to be 15 minutes late, so WHY did I get ON this train? The man with the dog who had answered me looked at me with a reassuring face, "Don't worry, you can get on a train to Paris from the next station."
"It's true," interjected an old woman who had witnessed me practically flop to the floor, "I used to live there - trains to Paris all the time." As reassuring as this was, it didn't help my inability to breathe or stand at this point - I was in a foreign country on the wrong train and had NO IDEA in what direction it was going, "How far 'til the next station?"
"Oh, shouldn't be more than twenty minutes." He said with a smile and shushed his whinging dog. Sufficed to say, that was the longest twenty minutes I had ever lived through - most of my thoughts consisting of "Oh God, oh God!" and that I would never make it to Paris that day and would miss my plane to Dublin tomorrow. Soon, the Controller came by and the man with the dog stopped him and we explained what was wrong to him - mostly that I was a lost Australian boy who had gotten on the wrong train and needed to go to Paris. He told me not to worry, that in fact, this train was going in the same direction and that it would stop in a place just 10 minutes train ride from the center of Paris. The Controller was extra nice when I told him where I was from at the next station, gave me an official seat on the train, "There's no point changing trains to the one to Paris," he said, "it will cost you an extra 30 euros [for fucking up] to change the ticket and all that - just stay on this train and I'll come by and let you know when we have to get off and I'll show you where to go." and he smiled under his Clouseau-esque mustache, "On est sympa ici, en France. On est gentil les francophones." ["We are nice here in France. We are nice us francophones."] he said as he installed me into a seat.
I'm starting to breathe a litte more normally, now. Calming down from an anxiety attack-like experience. I don't think I'll get much writing done on the train and I'll probably just do it in the hotel room. My brain is completely fried. I didn't think I'd be able to eat, but I finished a nice, big sandwich because that adrenaline made me tired and hungry.
There is a small baby sitting across from me and he keeps trying to pass me his books to share, to play. It's adorable. So the ontrolled is taking me directly to the place I need to go to because he doesn't want me to get lost again, "C'est trop gentil." ["That's really nice."] I said.
"C'est rien. Comment ca ce fait t'a manque ton train?" ["It's nothing. How is it that you missed your train?"] So I explained it to him and he just laughed a little to himself and he told me not to worry and that he would take me.
But even on the train, I'm near babies whose parents seem incapable of shutting them up. Sigh.
It's interesting noticing that as we travel further north, the cloud cover becames heavier and more prominent, leaving the sunshine and the warmth and the south behind.
I got off the train at Massay-Varriers and found the Controller who took me up the stairs and pointed me in the right direction to catch the train to Charles de Gaulle airport and my double room, "Il y a jamais des problemes en France, toujours les solutions. On est sympa, pas comme les Anglais ou quoi!" ["There are never problems in France, always solutions. We're nice here, not like the English or whatever!"] he said with a coy smile.
"Oui, trop vrai." ["Yeah, too true."] I said enthusiastically.
When I got to the appropriate building I got on a train to the airport, where I had to change trains at Gare du Nord, where again I had some difficulty, mainly because of the Gare's poor design. Once finally on the train, I sat across from an Asian man who spoke no French and some good English, who asked me where to get off at for arrivals at the airport. I pointed out the appropriate stop at CdG airport and he thanked me, but some people just don't understand "leave me alone". When I put my headphones in it means "leave me alone" not "keep talking to me about inane deatils in your life of which I don't care". Yes, I'm talking to you annoying Asian accounting who's picking up a friend at the airport who works in New Zealand and L.A.!
At the airport I finally headed up to my Novotel hotel room and as I walked into the single room with a double bed I burst into joyful laughter (I could've cried) and immediately stripped naked and jumped on the bed, lay around for a while and took a shower. I had left Avignon at 12:20, I got to the hotel at 17:20, imagine how I felt. But I was finally in a room where I could walk around naked, watch crappy TV and just lounge - some private time. And what a shower. I didn't even care that I was alone on Christmas Day, the hotel room was my gift and I loved it. That night I fell asleep in front of the TV at 21:15.
- from The Journal December 25th 2008
After Annie and Guilhem dropped me at the train station, I began to chill out. I noticed my train was on platform 4 so I went over and there was a train sitting there. As I got on I asked a man, "This train goes to Paris, right?" and he looks at me and says, "No." as the doors to the train close with a sudden thump. My heart, stomach and brain sunk into a delirious stupor. I had gotten on the wrong train. I looked at my watch - I don't know what I was thinking when I got on, my proper train didn't even ARRIVE at Avignon for another 20 minutes and was supposed to be 15 minutes late, so WHY did I get ON this train? The man with the dog who had answered me looked at me with a reassuring face, "Don't worry, you can get on a train to Paris from the next station."
"It's true," interjected an old woman who had witnessed me practically flop to the floor, "I used to live there - trains to Paris all the time." As reassuring as this was, it didn't help my inability to breathe or stand at this point - I was in a foreign country on the wrong train and had NO IDEA in what direction it was going, "How far 'til the next station?"
"Oh, shouldn't be more than twenty minutes." He said with a smile and shushed his whinging dog. Sufficed to say, that was the longest twenty minutes I had ever lived through - most of my thoughts consisting of "Oh God, oh God!" and that I would never make it to Paris that day and would miss my plane to Dublin tomorrow. Soon, the Controller came by and the man with the dog stopped him and we explained what was wrong to him - mostly that I was a lost Australian boy who had gotten on the wrong train and needed to go to Paris. He told me not to worry, that in fact, this train was going in the same direction and that it would stop in a place just 10 minutes train ride from the center of Paris. The Controller was extra nice when I told him where I was from at the next station, gave me an official seat on the train, "There's no point changing trains to the one to Paris," he said, "it will cost you an extra 30 euros [for fucking up] to change the ticket and all that - just stay on this train and I'll come by and let you know when we have to get off and I'll show you where to go." and he smiled under his Clouseau-esque mustache, "On est sympa ici, en France. On est gentil les francophones." ["We are nice here in France. We are nice us francophones."] he said as he installed me into a seat.
I'm starting to breathe a litte more normally, now. Calming down from an anxiety attack-like experience. I don't think I'll get much writing done on the train and I'll probably just do it in the hotel room. My brain is completely fried. I didn't think I'd be able to eat, but I finished a nice, big sandwich because that adrenaline made me tired and hungry.
There is a small baby sitting across from me and he keeps trying to pass me his books to share, to play. It's adorable. So the ontrolled is taking me directly to the place I need to go to because he doesn't want me to get lost again, "C'est trop gentil." ["That's really nice."] I said.
"C'est rien. Comment ca ce fait t'a manque ton train?" ["It's nothing. How is it that you missed your train?"] So I explained it to him and he just laughed a little to himself and he told me not to worry and that he would take me.
But even on the train, I'm near babies whose parents seem incapable of shutting them up. Sigh.
It's interesting noticing that as we travel further north, the cloud cover becames heavier and more prominent, leaving the sunshine and the warmth and the south behind.
I got off the train at Massay-Varriers and found the Controller who took me up the stairs and pointed me in the right direction to catch the train to Charles de Gaulle airport and my double room, "Il y a jamais des problemes en France, toujours les solutions. On est sympa, pas comme les Anglais ou quoi!" ["There are never problems in France, always solutions. We're nice here, not like the English or whatever!"] he said with a coy smile.
"Oui, trop vrai." ["Yeah, too true."] I said enthusiastically.
When I got to the appropriate building I got on a train to the airport, where I had to change trains at Gare du Nord, where again I had some difficulty, mainly because of the Gare's poor design. Once finally on the train, I sat across from an Asian man who spoke no French and some good English, who asked me where to get off at for arrivals at the airport. I pointed out the appropriate stop at CdG airport and he thanked me, but some people just don't understand "leave me alone". When I put my headphones in it means "leave me alone" not "keep talking to me about inane deatils in your life of which I don't care". Yes, I'm talking to you annoying Asian accounting who's picking up a friend at the airport who works in New Zealand and L.A.!
At the airport I finally headed up to my Novotel hotel room and as I walked into the single room with a double bed I burst into joyful laughter (I could've cried) and immediately stripped naked and jumped on the bed, lay around for a while and took a shower. I had left Avignon at 12:20, I got to the hotel at 17:20, imagine how I felt. But I was finally in a room where I could walk around naked, watch crappy TV and just lounge - some private time. And what a shower. I didn't even care that I was alone on Christmas Day, the hotel room was my gift and I loved it. That night I fell asleep in front of the TV at 21:15.
- from The Journal December 25th 2008
Monday, February 23, 2009
Chapter 14: Christmas Eve
Having felt a bit sickly and being in need of sleep last night, I slept until midday today. We were going to see Alice that morning so we instead were going to see her that afternoon before the family and I headed over to a town just beyond Avignon to meet their relatives for Christmas dinner that night - whom I had all met last time I was here. We quickly ate some food and Guilhem and I took the old bikes out of the garage. I hadn't ridden a bike in years and I told Guilhem I'd probably be awful and he laughed and said that's fine. For the first leg of the trip I struggled to remain upright on the thing, but soon gained a sense of balance, except for on hills which were impossible to climb on an old bike without gears and we finally got to Alice's after a laboured trip. We got to her door and, as she had lost the keys to the door, we had to climb in through the window.
Guilhem spent the time there booking train tickets to Paris for later that week and I spent my time playing with Zoe and Alice's cat and talking to Alice. When we had to head off, I said my goodbyes to Alice, "Ben, au revois. J'espere a la prochaine et a bientot," she said, "c'est domage que tu ne peux pas rester pour la fete du nouvelle ans..." [Well, goodbye. I hope to see you next time and soon...it's a shame you won't be able to stay for the New Year's Eve party..."] she said and smiled downwards with her big, brown eyes shining, "Maybe next time." I said, and climbed back out through the window, wishing I was staying as I missed my Montpellier friends very much, but knowing it would still be a lot of fun in Dublin. As we cycled home, downhill, I felt the breeze on my face and understood why so many people enjoyed cycling - one feels free.
When we got home, after an hour or so we were ready to head off. After closing all the windows we packed our things into the car and drove off, and after about an hour and a half we arrived. We stopped in first at Anouk and JP's to say hello and then went over to Paty and Jean-Paul's to drop off our gear.
Note: JP's real name is ALSO Jean-Paul, but they call him JP to not get confused.
Guilhem and I made trips between the two houses getting necessities for the dinner that night, accompanied by Artus - JP and Anouk's son.
Soon enough it was time for pre-dinner drinks and degustations (like...hor d'oeuvres) and Artus brought out his guitar for me to play - which felt brilliant after 3 weeks of going without - and Guilhem brought me a rum and orange. Before dinner had even began I had drunk 2 of these and a glass of wine, when a giant caricature of a man walked through the door with his equally bizare wife. He was a giant of a man, 6 ft 3 and about as wide around - with oddly thin legs - and no chin. But his face was most impressive - a street caricaturist would have a field day. Just this joyful bear of a man with an earing in both ears, glasses, white hair and a dry, husky, booming voice in an indecipherable Southern French accent. His wife was a very loud American woman with an exceptionally loud laugh - which Guilhem spent the whole night marvelling at every time she burst out laughing, which was often - who spoke French like a Frenchwoman and who could have done with wearing a bra.
Dinner was an amazing raqulette. When gift time came around, I expected nothing, as I was a guest, but they still got me a scarf with the names of Annie, Andre, Benjamin and Guilhem embroidered on it.
By the end of desert everyone was thoroughly pissed and we decided to hit the bed, "Should we take the ladder?" I asked.
"No, it's too cold!" Said Zoyra, Benjamin's girlfriend.
"Let's drive!" Said gay cousin Thomas. So we did. We all piled into his tiny car, whose windows were frosted over, and drove at 15 km/h the 300m to Paty's house and we all fell asleep as our heads hit the pillow.
- from The Journal December 24th 2008
Guilhem spent the time there booking train tickets to Paris for later that week and I spent my time playing with Zoe and Alice's cat and talking to Alice. When we had to head off, I said my goodbyes to Alice, "Ben, au revois. J'espere a la prochaine et a bientot," she said, "c'est domage que tu ne peux pas rester pour la fete du nouvelle ans..." [Well, goodbye. I hope to see you next time and soon...it's a shame you won't be able to stay for the New Year's Eve party..."] she said and smiled downwards with her big, brown eyes shining, "Maybe next time." I said, and climbed back out through the window, wishing I was staying as I missed my Montpellier friends very much, but knowing it would still be a lot of fun in Dublin. As we cycled home, downhill, I felt the breeze on my face and understood why so many people enjoyed cycling - one feels free.
When we got home, after an hour or so we were ready to head off. After closing all the windows we packed our things into the car and drove off, and after about an hour and a half we arrived. We stopped in first at Anouk and JP's to say hello and then went over to Paty and Jean-Paul's to drop off our gear.
Note: JP's real name is ALSO Jean-Paul, but they call him JP to not get confused.
Guilhem and I made trips between the two houses getting necessities for the dinner that night, accompanied by Artus - JP and Anouk's son.
Soon enough it was time for pre-dinner drinks and degustations (like...hor d'oeuvres) and Artus brought out his guitar for me to play - which felt brilliant after 3 weeks of going without - and Guilhem brought me a rum and orange. Before dinner had even began I had drunk 2 of these and a glass of wine, when a giant caricature of a man walked through the door with his equally bizare wife. He was a giant of a man, 6 ft 3 and about as wide around - with oddly thin legs - and no chin. But his face was most impressive - a street caricaturist would have a field day. Just this joyful bear of a man with an earing in both ears, glasses, white hair and a dry, husky, booming voice in an indecipherable Southern French accent. His wife was a very loud American woman with an exceptionally loud laugh - which Guilhem spent the whole night marvelling at every time she burst out laughing, which was often - who spoke French like a Frenchwoman and who could have done with wearing a bra.
Dinner was an amazing raqulette. When gift time came around, I expected nothing, as I was a guest, but they still got me a scarf with the names of Annie, Andre, Benjamin and Guilhem embroidered on it.
By the end of desert everyone was thoroughly pissed and we decided to hit the bed, "Should we take the ladder?" I asked.
"No, it's too cold!" Said Zoyra, Benjamin's girlfriend.
"Let's drive!" Said gay cousin Thomas. So we did. We all piled into his tiny car, whose windows were frosted over, and drove at 15 km/h the 300m to Paty's house and we all fell asleep as our heads hit the pillow.
- from The Journal December 24th 2008
Chapter 13: Mountain Lunch
Today I was awoken at 9:15, and re-awoken at 9:30 for the country walk picnic that Guilhem and his friends had planned. Alice picked us up at 10 a.m. and then we headed over to Armand's. A big surprise as we got in the car was Alice's 5 moth old Dalmatian puppy Zoe; an energetic and stupid young dog, but adorable and kept sticking her head and shoulders over the seat to be near whoever was in the back seat, i.e. me.
We pick up Armand and he is less than pleased to see the dog, "Oh, putain merde." [Oh, fucking shit.] he says as he approaches and Zoe goes to lick him. He sits in the back with me and he is always flinching or moving away and telling the dog to "degager!" [get away!] or "casse toi!" [fuck off!] to try and make it move away from him.
We drive from his to Marie's and Armand steals Guilhem's front seat, and Guilhem gets in Marie's car, and we drive to Laura's. Here, to piss him off, I steal Armand's front seat, but he gets in Marie's car with Laura and Guilhem gets in the back of Alice's car. Vehicular musical chairs with these people.
From here, we drive out across hill and countryside and small town to reach the walkway to begin our trek and picnic.
After getting lost once in a small town and asking for directions, we finally make it to the area we need to get to and we unpack the cars and get Zoe on a leash. We started on the dirt trail up the hills passing small, icy puddles of muddy water in the shade of the trees and hills. We amused ourselves by jumping on them and breaking the ice, occasionally attempting to walk across them without breaking the ice. We always failed. We soon arrived at the man-made lake/dam and ate by the side of it on the bank, under the bright sun, in the cool, crisp air as the dog roamed and ran free. I inhaled the two sandwiches, mandarin and bottled water I had prepared and just enjoyed the sunlight and the crisp air.
Soon I began skipping rocks on the quiet surface of the water - which was very cold, as we found out, as Guilhem attempted to swim in it, but stopped just after taking off his shoes. Guilhem also began launching rocks in the direction of a small trio of ducks, trying jovially to hit one - from therein evertime ducks came near us, we'd all go, "Guilhem, ducks!". After we all finished eating we started a nice walk around the perimeter of the hills of the lake, passing giant pools of water, covered in thick layers of ice, "It's so odd," said Alice, "15 degrees and puddles of ice."
"Yeah," I replied, "surely a bit gob-smacking for me, anyway." We smiled. We hit a particularily big pool of water with a thick ice covering. Guilhem put his goot heavily on the top and the ice didn't move. He took a full step on it before it began to crack, supporting his full body weight for a moment. He bashed his foot down and cracked off a big piece of ice and admired its thickness, "Fuck." He said, "That must be two inches thick!" He threw it into the middle of the pool, attempting to break the whole lot and the piece just ended up getting stuck in the middle. Zoe just ran through it, ignoring the ice and the cold and breaking apart large chunks of the pool, like so many other puddles, and we moved on. We soon made it to the connection point between where we were, and where we started; connected by the thin concrete strip of the dam wall. So, we decided to make our way across it, freezing lake on the one side, small, icy plaform with a very long drop on the other. We all made it across with no problem - Alice carrying Zoe - and began out trip back down the hills to the car and back home. When we got back home we originally made plans to meet up again another time that night before I left, but it ended up not panning out and I hit that hat at 22h30.
- from The Journal December 23rd 2008
We pick up Armand and he is less than pleased to see the dog, "Oh, putain merde." [Oh, fucking shit.] he says as he approaches and Zoe goes to lick him. He sits in the back with me and he is always flinching or moving away and telling the dog to "degager!" [get away!] or "casse toi!" [fuck off!] to try and make it move away from him.
We drive from his to Marie's and Armand steals Guilhem's front seat, and Guilhem gets in Marie's car, and we drive to Laura's. Here, to piss him off, I steal Armand's front seat, but he gets in Marie's car with Laura and Guilhem gets in the back of Alice's car. Vehicular musical chairs with these people.
From here, we drive out across hill and countryside and small town to reach the walkway to begin our trek and picnic.
After getting lost once in a small town and asking for directions, we finally make it to the area we need to get to and we unpack the cars and get Zoe on a leash. We started on the dirt trail up the hills passing small, icy puddles of muddy water in the shade of the trees and hills. We amused ourselves by jumping on them and breaking the ice, occasionally attempting to walk across them without breaking the ice. We always failed. We soon arrived at the man-made lake/dam and ate by the side of it on the bank, under the bright sun, in the cool, crisp air as the dog roamed and ran free. I inhaled the two sandwiches, mandarin and bottled water I had prepared and just enjoyed the sunlight and the crisp air.
Soon I began skipping rocks on the quiet surface of the water - which was very cold, as we found out, as Guilhem attempted to swim in it, but stopped just after taking off his shoes. Guilhem also began launching rocks in the direction of a small trio of ducks, trying jovially to hit one - from therein evertime ducks came near us, we'd all go, "Guilhem, ducks!". After we all finished eating we started a nice walk around the perimeter of the hills of the lake, passing giant pools of water, covered in thick layers of ice, "It's so odd," said Alice, "15 degrees and puddles of ice."
"Yeah," I replied, "surely a bit gob-smacking for me, anyway." We smiled. We hit a particularily big pool of water with a thick ice covering. Guilhem put his goot heavily on the top and the ice didn't move. He took a full step on it before it began to crack, supporting his full body weight for a moment. He bashed his foot down and cracked off a big piece of ice and admired its thickness, "Fuck." He said, "That must be two inches thick!" He threw it into the middle of the pool, attempting to break the whole lot and the piece just ended up getting stuck in the middle. Zoe just ran through it, ignoring the ice and the cold and breaking apart large chunks of the pool, like so many other puddles, and we moved on. We soon made it to the connection point between where we were, and where we started; connected by the thin concrete strip of the dam wall. So, we decided to make our way across it, freezing lake on the one side, small, icy plaform with a very long drop on the other. We all made it across with no problem - Alice carrying Zoe - and began out trip back down the hills to the car and back home. When we got back home we originally made plans to meet up again another time that night before I left, but it ended up not panning out and I hit that hat at 22h30.
- from The Journal December 23rd 2008
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Chapter 12: The Road to Montpellier and the First Day
I got up at 4:45 this morning and Mary and I had a sleepy breakfast at her kitchen counter of hot chocolate and bread with peanut butter. We sat and chatted sleepily for a while before heading to the Gare, only to find my train was to be ten minutes...fifteen...twenty-five...half an hour late, "SNCF de merde," Mary said, "it's always like this." We waited in the 6 a.m. cold on the platform until the train finally arrived. I put my bag on the train and hugged Mary goodbye, "Thank you for coming and changing your plans to do so!"
"It was my pleasure. Thank you for letting me stay."
"That was my pleasure. I guess it's my turn again, to come in Australia."
"Yeah," I said, "I guess it is. Sorry my turn was so short."
"Don't be," she said, "you came and that's what matters. I'll see you soon." She said with a big smile and we hugged again and kissed cheeks goodbye, "Twice in Bordeaux, three in Montpellier, don't forget!"
"I won't. See you soon." and we waved as the train pulled away.
On the train in the early hours of the morn and they turn the lights off briefly for me to see the thick fog bounding either side of the train. There are farm fields covered by it that appear to be the setting of a bad horror film if the script could only get off the ground. Just underneath the fog is a thin layer of snow covering everything in a thin layer of white which makes everything look not quite real.
She sun has come out on another sunny French day and to my left is the blue sky and yellow and green fields stretching towards fairytale, snowtoppes peaks of the mountains beyond - of which mountain range, I cannot be sure - and on my right there is a thick layer of cloud that just seems to stop over the border of a farm a few kilometers out, hanging just below the mountains and stretching as far as the trainline.
I arrived at Gare de Montpellier at just before 12 and wandered around for some time trying to find Annie. I was 2 hours late and I honestly hoped she had waited. As I wandered through the station I suddenly hear, "Jordan!" from the bench beside me. I'm sure as I quickly turned my head, my curls must have swished impressively. I saw Annie sitting there, but some things were very different about her from last time I was here - admittedly, that was 4 years ago, now. Her face had more lines and her hair was short, cut just above the shoulders. She even seemed smaller. She smiled broadly and marvelled at how tall I'd gotten and how long my hair was. We walked out of the station into the beautiful sunlight - my second day of sun in Europe.
As we walked through the parking lot I noticed the same old van sitting in the parking space and I knew where we were going. I loaded my bags in the trunk and we got in.
"So, what's new?" I asked, and Annie began regailing me with tales of her retired life and how Andre seems a bit more tired these days and how Benjamin was out with a long-term girlfriend with a steady job and that he'd bought himself a house.
"And Guilhem?" Here, her face fell.
"We've been having trouble with Guilhem." She explained to me how, since he failed his Med School course, he had dropped all interest in study altogether and how he was planning a trip to India - for what, she didn't know - and this worried her. She also recognised, though, that is must be hard for him, having none of his friends around as they are all at university in different parts of France, but was worried because he barely leaves his room. He just sounded lonely to me.
We got home shortly - pulling into the familiar area of St Georges D'Orques - and I deposited my bags in my old room. In Benjamin's old room. I went downstairs with the intention of calling my parents - after I had called Thibault to arrange a time to see him; 2 p.m. that day - and ran into Andre as he was coming home. He, indeed, had changed. From what I remembered as a big, impressive man, was now a much slighter man with slightly less hair. What hadn't changed, however, was his impressively loud voice with slurred Southern French accent - which I couldn't understand for the two weeks the first time I met him.
Not long after him, Guilhem came home and he had barely changed at all. He was still thin as bones, but he had shaved down some of his beared and tamed the incredible wildeness of his shot, blonde, curled hair. He asked me how I was and what I had planned for my stay and told him about my plans with Thibault later that day and he said that was cool as Marie was picking him up to go to the city soon and they'd drop me off at La Comedie - Les Trois Graces - to meet Thibault at 2, and that later that night they had a small evening planned with Alice and Armand. I told him that sounded great and that I would like to go see them.
Soon, we had lunch and what was once a table of animated discussion was now shrouded in an intimate and bizarre silence, as if everyone at the table knew something the others didn't or wanted to know, including me. Afterwards Marie showed at the door and we left in her car - to connect with a tram - into the 'city' of Montpellier. Marie left us here for a meet and Fuilgem waited with me until Thibault came and then headed off on his own to a meet of his own.
Thibault had changed, if only a little. Physically, I found he looked older, more mature, and his hair seemed thicker, it was shorter. But his accent when he spoke English hadn't changed - still the same mongrel of French and Irish, as he had spent 7 years in Ireland.
"How are you, dude?" he asked.
"Man, I'm doing great." and we hugged. We began walking towards the mall and walked through it to the gardens on the other side where a copy of Winged Victory stood, just near the "Outback" Australian club/bar. There we sat and filled each other in on our university lives and our love lives and just our lives in general, gushing off fountains of information to each other, trying to fit 4 years of info into a few hours.
"How're things with your girl? Did you sort it all out?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah, in the end. But I feel more blank about her, you know? After he wanted to break up and regretting it, I feel..weird," and I nodded, "and you? Tell me about this girlfriend." So I did.
We got up and walked back through the gardens and the mall, "Where we headed?" I asked.
"I'm just gonna show you 'round a few places." He took me down the small alleys of Montpellier and we talked about nothing, "If I shaved off my eyebrows, would my face be a lot colder?" I asked. He laughed, "Jordan in France, asking the big questions." He said, and we laughed some more. He took me to the bottom of a hill where there lay the oldest and best medical school in France for the past THOUSAND years. It was a beautiful, castle of a building, complete with sundial and towers. After marvelling at that for some time, we walked up a hill to the Henry III park and just over that to the ancient Roman building that still stands in a quiet area at the centre of the city. We sat there and talked for a while before I walked Thibault to his dentist appointment, "Meet you out here in 20 mins?" he said.
"Sure thing." I said. I wandered through the nearby streets, buying another sugar crepe and then leaned against a wall to wait and eat. It was strange to note how many people make and kept eye contact with me as I stood there, leaning against a wall.
I also noticed a black kid wearing Jamaican colours, a young Jewish kid with a faux-hawk and prominently displayed Chamsah and an Arab kid all walking together in the street - world peace in 3 small children.
"J'ai besoin d'un euro dix...he to donnera un joint si tu veux..." [I need one euro twn...I'll give you a joint if you want.]
"...desole, j'ai rien avec moi." [Sorry, I have nothing with me.] Was what interrupted my reverie as a homeless beggar asked for change.
A half hour later Thibault emerged from his dentist appointment and we continued our walks, "Sorry I'm late, bro." he said.
"No problem." and we walked through the tiny streets.
"This is what I like doing," he said, "just walking aimlessly, calmly, through the streets, talking to a friend. Few people enjoy this."
"I find the same." I said. He took me to a narrow alleyway that was lined wall to wall with cards and art to buy - it was even carpeted, "The carpet is different every time I come." Thibault said. I bought a couple of postcards and then we headed back to the Roman aqueducts and photographed the sunset. Soon after we walked to the bus station and made our farwells, "Well, I'll see ya, dude." He said.
"Yeah, man, soon right? You gotta come to Australia next time." and I smiled.
"Yeah, next time. I just wanna thank you for coming and seeing me, dude."
"Hey man, it was my pleasure." I said and stepped onto the bus after we hugged.
I think I slept on the bus ride back to St Georges because when I opened my eyes we were at the city centre and I had that taste in my mouth of having just slept.
When I got home I headed up to my room and ended up having a nap just before dinner. We ate amongst animated conversation and then, at around 21:30, we jetted off out the door to wait in the cold for Alice to come pick us up.
She pulled up within a few minutes and we got in. Alice had changed a little, too. She was basically the same, but her hair was longer. And it seemed she smiled more, and was a bit more talkative. It was good to see her again, too.
"Mais, c'est trop fort son accent, j'avais oublier!" [Woah, but it's so strong his accent, I'd forgotten!] She said as we headed to Armand's house.
"Oui, trop Quebecois, non?" [Yeah, too Quebecois, no?] Guilhem agreed, smiling cheekily, "When we get to Armand's," he said, "greet him with something really Quebecois, that'll get him so good."
"Top shape, mon big." I said as I walked in the door, shaking Armand's hand, and he burst into tearful laughter. We then spent the night chatting, and writing pastiche songs for their friend's birthday and we ended up getting home and to bed at around 1 a.m.
- from The Journal December 22nd 2008
"It was my pleasure. Thank you for letting me stay."
"That was my pleasure. I guess it's my turn again, to come in Australia."
"Yeah," I said, "I guess it is. Sorry my turn was so short."
"Don't be," she said, "you came and that's what matters. I'll see you soon." She said with a big smile and we hugged again and kissed cheeks goodbye, "Twice in Bordeaux, three in Montpellier, don't forget!"
"I won't. See you soon." and we waved as the train pulled away.
On the train in the early hours of the morn and they turn the lights off briefly for me to see the thick fog bounding either side of the train. There are farm fields covered by it that appear to be the setting of a bad horror film if the script could only get off the ground. Just underneath the fog is a thin layer of snow covering everything in a thin layer of white which makes everything look not quite real.
She sun has come out on another sunny French day and to my left is the blue sky and yellow and green fields stretching towards fairytale, snowtoppes peaks of the mountains beyond - of which mountain range, I cannot be sure - and on my right there is a thick layer of cloud that just seems to stop over the border of a farm a few kilometers out, hanging just below the mountains and stretching as far as the trainline.
I arrived at Gare de Montpellier at just before 12 and wandered around for some time trying to find Annie. I was 2 hours late and I honestly hoped she had waited. As I wandered through the station I suddenly hear, "Jordan!" from the bench beside me. I'm sure as I quickly turned my head, my curls must have swished impressively. I saw Annie sitting there, but some things were very different about her from last time I was here - admittedly, that was 4 years ago, now. Her face had more lines and her hair was short, cut just above the shoulders. She even seemed smaller. She smiled broadly and marvelled at how tall I'd gotten and how long my hair was. We walked out of the station into the beautiful sunlight - my second day of sun in Europe.
As we walked through the parking lot I noticed the same old van sitting in the parking space and I knew where we were going. I loaded my bags in the trunk and we got in.
"So, what's new?" I asked, and Annie began regailing me with tales of her retired life and how Andre seems a bit more tired these days and how Benjamin was out with a long-term girlfriend with a steady job and that he'd bought himself a house.
"And Guilhem?" Here, her face fell.
"We've been having trouble with Guilhem." She explained to me how, since he failed his Med School course, he had dropped all interest in study altogether and how he was planning a trip to India - for what, she didn't know - and this worried her. She also recognised, though, that is must be hard for him, having none of his friends around as they are all at university in different parts of France, but was worried because he barely leaves his room. He just sounded lonely to me.
We got home shortly - pulling into the familiar area of St Georges D'Orques - and I deposited my bags in my old room. In Benjamin's old room. I went downstairs with the intention of calling my parents - after I had called Thibault to arrange a time to see him; 2 p.m. that day - and ran into Andre as he was coming home. He, indeed, had changed. From what I remembered as a big, impressive man, was now a much slighter man with slightly less hair. What hadn't changed, however, was his impressively loud voice with slurred Southern French accent - which I couldn't understand for the two weeks the first time I met him.
Not long after him, Guilhem came home and he had barely changed at all. He was still thin as bones, but he had shaved down some of his beared and tamed the incredible wildeness of his shot, blonde, curled hair. He asked me how I was and what I had planned for my stay and told him about my plans with Thibault later that day and he said that was cool as Marie was picking him up to go to the city soon and they'd drop me off at La Comedie - Les Trois Graces - to meet Thibault at 2, and that later that night they had a small evening planned with Alice and Armand. I told him that sounded great and that I would like to go see them.
Soon, we had lunch and what was once a table of animated discussion was now shrouded in an intimate and bizarre silence, as if everyone at the table knew something the others didn't or wanted to know, including me. Afterwards Marie showed at the door and we left in her car - to connect with a tram - into the 'city' of Montpellier. Marie left us here for a meet and Fuilgem waited with me until Thibault came and then headed off on his own to a meet of his own.
Thibault had changed, if only a little. Physically, I found he looked older, more mature, and his hair seemed thicker, it was shorter. But his accent when he spoke English hadn't changed - still the same mongrel of French and Irish, as he had spent 7 years in Ireland.
"How are you, dude?" he asked.
"Man, I'm doing great." and we hugged. We began walking towards the mall and walked through it to the gardens on the other side where a copy of Winged Victory stood, just near the "Outback" Australian club/bar. There we sat and filled each other in on our university lives and our love lives and just our lives in general, gushing off fountains of information to each other, trying to fit 4 years of info into a few hours.
"How're things with your girl? Did you sort it all out?" I asked.
"Oh, yeah, in the end. But I feel more blank about her, you know? After he wanted to break up and regretting it, I feel..weird," and I nodded, "and you? Tell me about this girlfriend." So I did.
We got up and walked back through the gardens and the mall, "Where we headed?" I asked.
"I'm just gonna show you 'round a few places." He took me down the small alleys of Montpellier and we talked about nothing, "If I shaved off my eyebrows, would my face be a lot colder?" I asked. He laughed, "Jordan in France, asking the big questions." He said, and we laughed some more. He took me to the bottom of a hill where there lay the oldest and best medical school in France for the past THOUSAND years. It was a beautiful, castle of a building, complete with sundial and towers. After marvelling at that for some time, we walked up a hill to the Henry III park and just over that to the ancient Roman building that still stands in a quiet area at the centre of the city. We sat there and talked for a while before I walked Thibault to his dentist appointment, "Meet you out here in 20 mins?" he said.
"Sure thing." I said. I wandered through the nearby streets, buying another sugar crepe and then leaned against a wall to wait and eat. It was strange to note how many people make and kept eye contact with me as I stood there, leaning against a wall.
I also noticed a black kid wearing Jamaican colours, a young Jewish kid with a faux-hawk and prominently displayed Chamsah and an Arab kid all walking together in the street - world peace in 3 small children.
"J'ai besoin d'un euro dix...he to donnera un joint si tu veux..." [I need one euro twn...I'll give you a joint if you want.]
"...desole, j'ai rien avec moi." [Sorry, I have nothing with me.] Was what interrupted my reverie as a homeless beggar asked for change.
A half hour later Thibault emerged from his dentist appointment and we continued our walks, "Sorry I'm late, bro." he said.
"No problem." and we walked through the tiny streets.
"This is what I like doing," he said, "just walking aimlessly, calmly, through the streets, talking to a friend. Few people enjoy this."
"I find the same." I said. He took me to a narrow alleyway that was lined wall to wall with cards and art to buy - it was even carpeted, "The carpet is different every time I come." Thibault said. I bought a couple of postcards and then we headed back to the Roman aqueducts and photographed the sunset. Soon after we walked to the bus station and made our farwells, "Well, I'll see ya, dude." He said.
"Yeah, man, soon right? You gotta come to Australia next time." and I smiled.
"Yeah, next time. I just wanna thank you for coming and seeing me, dude."
"Hey man, it was my pleasure." I said and stepped onto the bus after we hugged.
I think I slept on the bus ride back to St Georges because when I opened my eyes we were at the city centre and I had that taste in my mouth of having just slept.
When I got home I headed up to my room and ended up having a nap just before dinner. We ate amongst animated conversation and then, at around 21:30, we jetted off out the door to wait in the cold for Alice to come pick us up.
She pulled up within a few minutes and we got in. Alice had changed a little, too. She was basically the same, but her hair was longer. And it seemed she smiled more, and was a bit more talkative. It was good to see her again, too.
"Mais, c'est trop fort son accent, j'avais oublier!" [Woah, but it's so strong his accent, I'd forgotten!] She said as we headed to Armand's house.
"Oui, trop Quebecois, non?" [Yeah, too Quebecois, no?] Guilhem agreed, smiling cheekily, "When we get to Armand's," he said, "greet him with something really Quebecois, that'll get him so good."
"Top shape, mon big." I said as I walked in the door, shaking Armand's hand, and he burst into tearful laughter. We then spent the night chatting, and writing pastiche songs for their friend's birthday and we ended up getting home and to bed at around 1 a.m.
- from The Journal December 22nd 2008
Chapter 11: Mordeaux - The end of the Road.
The next morning I awoke with a start to a text message from Anna, letting me know she was online so we could video chat. We chatted for some time, while I lay in my bed and soon I rose to open the blinds to my first sunny day in Europe. When I hung up with Anna, Mary and I went out to the second market area in town and had a brunch of a cheese and meat plate.
After which, Mary finally bought herself a beanie which she knocked down from 5 to 3 euros, "But I have only 3 euros. I don't even have 50 centimes!"
"Oh, okay."
"You're sneaky." I said as we walked away. Mary showed me her school and the beautiful old church next to it and then we walked down to the giant park nearby - once there we saw ganders of geese and flocks of swan and ducks and I thumbed my ring and though of Anna.
After here, we trammed across town to find me some new pens (which I write with now, ho ho) and Mary a scarf - which she never ended up buying. On our way down the road, I bought a couple of Super Cookies for 2 euros. Seriously, these things were like the size of my face. We turned off Rue St Katherine onto a side street, just exploring before we hit the cinema at 17h30.
"I like exploring the city with you," Mary said as we walked down a small cobblestone street, "I discover new places, even for me who lives here!"
Pretty soon it was time to catch the train to the cinema to see "L'Emmerdeur" - the closest description to which is a French version of "The Odd Couple"...if one of them were an assassin and the other suicidal and emotional. I know. But it was pretty good. We left there hungry and we decided to get some dinner, "I know a place." she said. We caught the tram back and began walking and soon, Mary grimaced, "What's wrong?" I asked.
"We're at my place," she said, "We went the wrong way. We were supposed to go 2 stops that way," she said pointing behind us, "but now we have to travel 4 because we came 2 this way." So we did. We reached the finance offices and a fork in the road, "Which way do you think?" she asked.
"Let's take the left." So we did and soon found the restaurant.
It was a racqulette specialty house, but with a stupid policy that only the person who ordered the racqulette can eat it, and anyone caught sharing in it would have to pay full price also, so our evening consisted of me and Mary finding creative ways to sneak her racqulette while the waitresses backs were turned. Beside us sat an older couple, who were obviously a little drunk, but also very obviously in love as they held each other's hands across the table the whole time and when the food was gone they kissed the hands, and they'd giggle.
"I love seeing that," said Mary, "you can tell they are young in their head and very in love. It's very sweet."
"Yeah," I said, "may we all be so lucky at that age."
Along with our meal we ordered a cocktail called a Green Day, made with blue curacao, orange juice and liquer. It was tall, fruity and delicious.
After we paid for dinner we walked home, the cold wind against our uncovered faces, walking off the intense amount of cheese I had just injested, "I think my soul is covered with cheese." I said as we walked, and we laughed.
We climbed the cold, stone steps up to Mary's apartment and I called Anna for a while. Mary, too, called her boyfriend and ended up angry, so when I hung up with Anna, I went to comfort her. She was in the living rroom, curled on the couch eating chocolate. So I gave her a big hug and we walked about it for a while and watched "Les Experts" - or CSI translated into French. I soon packed my bags and we hit the bed, to wake up in 4 and a half hours to get me to my train station.
- from The Journal December 21st 2008.
After which, Mary finally bought herself a beanie which she knocked down from 5 to 3 euros, "But I have only 3 euros. I don't even have 50 centimes!"
"Oh, okay."
"You're sneaky." I said as we walked away. Mary showed me her school and the beautiful old church next to it and then we walked down to the giant park nearby - once there we saw ganders of geese and flocks of swan and ducks and I thumbed my ring and though of Anna.
After here, we trammed across town to find me some new pens (which I write with now, ho ho) and Mary a scarf - which she never ended up buying. On our way down the road, I bought a couple of Super Cookies for 2 euros. Seriously, these things were like the size of my face. We turned off Rue St Katherine onto a side street, just exploring before we hit the cinema at 17h30.
"I like exploring the city with you," Mary said as we walked down a small cobblestone street, "I discover new places, even for me who lives here!"
Pretty soon it was time to catch the train to the cinema to see "L'Emmerdeur" - the closest description to which is a French version of "The Odd Couple"...if one of them were an assassin and the other suicidal and emotional. I know. But it was pretty good. We left there hungry and we decided to get some dinner, "I know a place." she said. We caught the tram back and began walking and soon, Mary grimaced, "What's wrong?" I asked.
"We're at my place," she said, "We went the wrong way. We were supposed to go 2 stops that way," she said pointing behind us, "but now we have to travel 4 because we came 2 this way." So we did. We reached the finance offices and a fork in the road, "Which way do you think?" she asked.
"Let's take the left." So we did and soon found the restaurant.
It was a racqulette specialty house, but with a stupid policy that only the person who ordered the racqulette can eat it, and anyone caught sharing in it would have to pay full price also, so our evening consisted of me and Mary finding creative ways to sneak her racqulette while the waitresses backs were turned. Beside us sat an older couple, who were obviously a little drunk, but also very obviously in love as they held each other's hands across the table the whole time and when the food was gone they kissed the hands, and they'd giggle.
"I love seeing that," said Mary, "you can tell they are young in their head and very in love. It's very sweet."
"Yeah," I said, "may we all be so lucky at that age."
Along with our meal we ordered a cocktail called a Green Day, made with blue curacao, orange juice and liquer. It was tall, fruity and delicious.
After we paid for dinner we walked home, the cold wind against our uncovered faces, walking off the intense amount of cheese I had just injested, "I think my soul is covered with cheese." I said as we walked, and we laughed.
We climbed the cold, stone steps up to Mary's apartment and I called Anna for a while. Mary, too, called her boyfriend and ended up angry, so when I hung up with Anna, I went to comfort her. She was in the living rroom, curled on the couch eating chocolate. So I gave her a big hug and we walked about it for a while and watched "Les Experts" - or CSI translated into French. I soon packed my bags and we hit the bed, to wake up in 4 and a half hours to get me to my train station.
- from The Journal December 21st 2008.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Chapter 10: Bordeaux Meanderings
I got up at midday after my first long and satisfying sleep. Today, we have no idea what we're going to do, but Mary is making a breakfast of Flammekueche, a pizza base with fresh cream, onion and bacon, a dish from Alsace. And then some chocolate cake while we listened to old 1930s jazz, and because I was a guest and felt I needed to contribute something, I washed the dishes.
We went out to St Michel and the markets there, which were like an open air Vinnies. It's warmer here and I can go out with hat and gloves and scarcely need a scarf. After walking around the basic markets for a while, we started on the main road of Bordeaux near Place de la Bourse, where there is a flat, black stone monument, a few hundred meters long and about 20 meters wide and is sometimes covered with a thin layer of water. Today it was.
"Something people take off their shoes and run through the water," Mary said, "this is the first time I've been here when there's water."
"You want to run through it, don't you?"
"...yes." It was overcast and maybe 8 degrees. So, I took off my shoes and socks and ran through it. At first, the water was like ice, burning my feet with the cold. But I soon got used to it and called Mary over, "It's alright!" So, she took off her shoes and socks and ran across the plain after me, "It's so cold!" she yelled, laughing and smiling, hugging herself, "how can you be so calm?!" I shrugged, "Canadian blood?" We stamp around for a little more until our feet go numb and run back to dry land, leaving wet footprints on the stone. I put my shoes back on and now they feel so warm after the freezing cold, "I can feel my feet again." I said.
"So can I. Just." She said, smiling, "And I was still sick."
And we did it, because we're idiots. But it was fun.
We walked through the large park past a monument fountain to the fallen of some war or other, dedicated to those in Bordeaux, past the fake arc de triumphe, where a castle once stood, and gathered around the base of this fountain were about two dozen Santas and elves, dressed and ready to roam the streets to hand out to chocolate to the populous.
We soon moved from there to the Christmas markets, where I ate an entire assortment of French food from the area, including a native Bordeaux sweet called cannele, a sandwich with smoked ham and onions from Bayonne, l'Aligot - a speciality from Avignon - which is mashed potatoes and lots of cheese - and a crepe with pure dark chocolate.
As we sat eating our crepes, there was a children's merry-go-round that played high pitched, tonalised versions of Jingle Bells. After a couple of round, the machine broke and the music broke down into a chorus of off tune beeps and tones that I could only describe as the machine vomiting.
We continued our way through the large, open air markets and I bought myself a new, betterr flap hat, bigger and black this time. As it was getting dark, all the lights of the city, including the special Christmas lights, got switched on. The main square lit up like something out of a Christmas film. We decided to head out across the main square, down Rue St Katherine, Bordeaux's main shopping drag. On the wy, we passed a man drinking a beer, and dressed as a giant penis, so I did what any self-respecting tourist would do, and took of photo with him. Just a little further was a big band playing some funky tunes, so Mary and I danced like idiots in the crowd doing a mock tango and mock swing dancing. Penis man then jumped from behind the band and into the dance circle below, dancing with people's small children.
We began walking down the crowded Rue St Katherine, just taking in the main Bordeaux shopping district and its many tiny alleys and shops. Pretty soon we decided to check cinema times for tomorrow and moved down a side alley. The film we wanted wasn't at this cinema, but we did find a woman on the street singing and playing the blues on a double bass, so we stopped and danced some more.
As we reached the end of the road, we decided we were hungry and decided to head home to eat, as nowhere but kebab stores and McDonald's were open. We headed home and Mary cooked up some of the left-over pasta and some fish fillets, with an entree of tomatoes and carrots with dressing. As we ate we watched the French dubbed Disney "Sword in the Stone" and then a French film called "Prete Moi ta Main (Lend Me Your Hand)". We talked until about 1 a.m, then hit the hay.
- from The Journal December 20th 2008
We went out to St Michel and the markets there, which were like an open air Vinnies. It's warmer here and I can go out with hat and gloves and scarcely need a scarf. After walking around the basic markets for a while, we started on the main road of Bordeaux near Place de la Bourse, where there is a flat, black stone monument, a few hundred meters long and about 20 meters wide and is sometimes covered with a thin layer of water. Today it was.
"Something people take off their shoes and run through the water," Mary said, "this is the first time I've been here when there's water."
"You want to run through it, don't you?"
"...yes." It was overcast and maybe 8 degrees. So, I took off my shoes and socks and ran through it. At first, the water was like ice, burning my feet with the cold. But I soon got used to it and called Mary over, "It's alright!" So, she took off her shoes and socks and ran across the plain after me, "It's so cold!" she yelled, laughing and smiling, hugging herself, "how can you be so calm?!" I shrugged, "Canadian blood?" We stamp around for a little more until our feet go numb and run back to dry land, leaving wet footprints on the stone. I put my shoes back on and now they feel so warm after the freezing cold, "I can feel my feet again." I said.
"So can I. Just." She said, smiling, "And I was still sick."
And we did it, because we're idiots. But it was fun.
We walked through the large park past a monument fountain to the fallen of some war or other, dedicated to those in Bordeaux, past the fake arc de triumphe, where a castle once stood, and gathered around the base of this fountain were about two dozen Santas and elves, dressed and ready to roam the streets to hand out to chocolate to the populous.
We soon moved from there to the Christmas markets, where I ate an entire assortment of French food from the area, including a native Bordeaux sweet called cannele, a sandwich with smoked ham and onions from Bayonne, l'Aligot - a speciality from Avignon - which is mashed potatoes and lots of cheese - and a crepe with pure dark chocolate.
As we sat eating our crepes, there was a children's merry-go-round that played high pitched, tonalised versions of Jingle Bells. After a couple of round, the machine broke and the music broke down into a chorus of off tune beeps and tones that I could only describe as the machine vomiting.
We continued our way through the large, open air markets and I bought myself a new, betterr flap hat, bigger and black this time. As it was getting dark, all the lights of the city, including the special Christmas lights, got switched on. The main square lit up like something out of a Christmas film. We decided to head out across the main square, down Rue St Katherine, Bordeaux's main shopping drag. On the wy, we passed a man drinking a beer, and dressed as a giant penis, so I did what any self-respecting tourist would do, and took of photo with him. Just a little further was a big band playing some funky tunes, so Mary and I danced like idiots in the crowd doing a mock tango and mock swing dancing. Penis man then jumped from behind the band and into the dance circle below, dancing with people's small children.
We began walking down the crowded Rue St Katherine, just taking in the main Bordeaux shopping district and its many tiny alleys and shops. Pretty soon we decided to check cinema times for tomorrow and moved down a side alley. The film we wanted wasn't at this cinema, but we did find a woman on the street singing and playing the blues on a double bass, so we stopped and danced some more.
As we reached the end of the road, we decided we were hungry and decided to head home to eat, as nowhere but kebab stores and McDonald's were open. We headed home and Mary cooked up some of the left-over pasta and some fish fillets, with an entree of tomatoes and carrots with dressing. As we ate we watched the French dubbed Disney "Sword in the Stone" and then a French film called "Prete Moi ta Main (Lend Me Your Hand)". We talked until about 1 a.m, then hit the hay.
- from The Journal December 20th 2008
Friday, January 30, 2009
Chapter 9: On the Road to Bordeaux
I woke in the morning at 8am and trotted to the metro down to Gare de Montparnasse. I got a small breakfast of a pain au chocolate and a hot chocolate. When it was finally my time to board the train, I still had a very awful, sinking feeling in my stomach that told me something was wrong, but then again, I had worken in the night in a cold sweat. Crazy body. Crazy mind.
On the train, it pulled out of the gare on time into the first blueskysunnyday I've had since I've been in Europe. We shoot out across the French countryside in the beautiful sun, and I marvel at the large, stretching pastures of a picturesque countryside. A man smelling of a stale pub carpet comes and sits next to me and drunkenly apologizes for nothing. He soon leaves for another seat and a young man in his late 20s or early 30s takes his place. He doesn't smell.
The small towns on the way look like something out of a period film; small medieval-18th Century towns.
And now, sitting beside me, is a very large man with a broken hand, dripping in sweat and smelling horrible. Hopefully he won't be on the train for too long. Smelling tangy of dirt and sweat and...that's it...cigarettes. And just plain body odour. I can taste it on the air. He wears a camo jacket and is covered in hair. Help, it makes me physically shudder. How does one person sweat so much? Always wiping his brow with folded paper...
Even after he's gotten up the smell lingers on in the fabric of the seat.
I jerked from my sleep as the train pulled into Bordeaux. Over thin, ancient bridges I saw the tall spyres of an old cathedral and the columns of a building as old as the Louvre. Getting off the train one sees that the whole city is like something out of a film spanning the 1500s to the 1800s and then stopping until train lines and neon lights were installed. The buildings are made of sandstone and the alleys are mostly barely big enough for 3 people side by side. I got out of the station beaming as I saw the sun out from behind the clouds for the first time since I landed in Europe.
At the tram stop I was met by Mary's friend Estenne. I called her to let her know I had arrived and she told me she was on her way. Soon enough a short, dark haired girl with blonde streaks and olive skin struggling with a full suitcase and a cat carrier cage walked up to me, "Bonjour," she said and we cheek-kissed 3 times - she going to stop at 2, but I only knew the Montpellier 3 and went for the third. She handed me the keys and showed me the crudely drawn map on the back of a piece of paper from uni, "go here and here after the stop St Michel, all good?" She said, smiling.
"Yeah, the trip was fine. It's my first day of sun in France."
"Oh no, I'm going up to Paris!"
"All clouse and rain I'm afraid." And she shrugged, "Well, enjoy your stay!" and we cheek-kissed again, only this time only twice.
I got on the tram after waiting in line and missing 2 as a result of an old couple not being able to figure out the ticket machine.
I soon got off at the stop St Michel and walked down the narrow cobblestone alleyes until I hit Mary's place - just as it started to rain. The buiolding was a beautiful, medieval building with a narrow, stone entranceway and a winding staircase to the third floor and Mary's apartment.
When I got inside I immediately took a shower. A real shower. And it felt oh so good. I finally felt clean and not smelling. Afterwards I poured myself a glass of milk and made a couple of slices of bread with peanut butter. For some reason, this tasted extra good - probably because it was "home" food. It felt good to finally be in the presence of someone who gave a shit about my wellbeing. It also felt good to be in a place where I knew I could be safely alone, and where I didn't have to worry about strange people I didn't know arriving at all hours of the day and night.
Mary arrived home at 6pm and after a long phone fight and reconciliation with her boyfriend, we spent the night hours talking; I told her about Anna and the tales that preceeded during this crazy year of 2008 and I detailed the journey so far up until now. After talking for so long, we had a late - Late - dinner at 10:30pm and then a desert. For dinner, tortellini with a cream sauce with sausage bits and for desert an assortment of cheeses. We then spoke until midnight and finally hit the sack.
- from The Journal December 19th 2008
On the train, it pulled out of the gare on time into the first blueskysunnyday I've had since I've been in Europe. We shoot out across the French countryside in the beautiful sun, and I marvel at the large, stretching pastures of a picturesque countryside. A man smelling of a stale pub carpet comes and sits next to me and drunkenly apologizes for nothing. He soon leaves for another seat and a young man in his late 20s or early 30s takes his place. He doesn't smell.
The small towns on the way look like something out of a period film; small medieval-18th Century towns.
And now, sitting beside me, is a very large man with a broken hand, dripping in sweat and smelling horrible. Hopefully he won't be on the train for too long. Smelling tangy of dirt and sweat and...that's it...cigarettes. And just plain body odour. I can taste it on the air. He wears a camo jacket and is covered in hair. Help, it makes me physically shudder. How does one person sweat so much? Always wiping his brow with folded paper...
Even after he's gotten up the smell lingers on in the fabric of the seat.
I jerked from my sleep as the train pulled into Bordeaux. Over thin, ancient bridges I saw the tall spyres of an old cathedral and the columns of a building as old as the Louvre. Getting off the train one sees that the whole city is like something out of a film spanning the 1500s to the 1800s and then stopping until train lines and neon lights were installed. The buildings are made of sandstone and the alleys are mostly barely big enough for 3 people side by side. I got out of the station beaming as I saw the sun out from behind the clouds for the first time since I landed in Europe.
At the tram stop I was met by Mary's friend Estenne. I called her to let her know I had arrived and she told me she was on her way. Soon enough a short, dark haired girl with blonde streaks and olive skin struggling with a full suitcase and a cat carrier cage walked up to me, "Bonjour," she said and we cheek-kissed 3 times - she going to stop at 2, but I only knew the Montpellier 3 and went for the third. She handed me the keys and showed me the crudely drawn map on the back of a piece of paper from uni, "go here and here after the stop St Michel, all good?" She said, smiling.
"Yeah, the trip was fine. It's my first day of sun in France."
"Oh no, I'm going up to Paris!"
"All clouse and rain I'm afraid." And she shrugged, "Well, enjoy your stay!" and we cheek-kissed again, only this time only twice.
I got on the tram after waiting in line and missing 2 as a result of an old couple not being able to figure out the ticket machine.
I soon got off at the stop St Michel and walked down the narrow cobblestone alleyes until I hit Mary's place - just as it started to rain. The buiolding was a beautiful, medieval building with a narrow, stone entranceway and a winding staircase to the third floor and Mary's apartment.
When I got inside I immediately took a shower. A real shower. And it felt oh so good. I finally felt clean and not smelling. Afterwards I poured myself a glass of milk and made a couple of slices of bread with peanut butter. For some reason, this tasted extra good - probably because it was "home" food. It felt good to finally be in the presence of someone who gave a shit about my wellbeing. It also felt good to be in a place where I knew I could be safely alone, and where I didn't have to worry about strange people I didn't know arriving at all hours of the day and night.
Mary arrived home at 6pm and after a long phone fight and reconciliation with her boyfriend, we spent the night hours talking; I told her about Anna and the tales that preceeded during this crazy year of 2008 and I detailed the journey so far up until now. After talking for so long, we had a late - Late - dinner at 10:30pm and then a desert. For dinner, tortellini with a cream sauce with sausage bits and for desert an assortment of cheeses. We then spoke until midnight and finally hit the sack.
- from The Journal December 19th 2008
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