Well, here I am in Madrid. Finally. It seems it has only taken three years. But how did I get here? How did that whirl-wind of traveling go? What about the holidays?
My last few months in Czech went rather smoothly. I was also fortunate enough to take several trips. Since August, I have been a traveling fool.
Salzburg
One weekend in October, I went to Salzburg, home of Mozart and The Sound of Music. The hills were alive indeed, and what a charming little city it is. We also had the pleasure to venture to Bavaria for a day and visit a small German town called Königssee. The Alps are absolutely breathtaking!
I went with three friends who worked at the girls school. One friend, Sothie of Malaysia, and I had decided we must take a trip together before I left, and we did. Four of us, all different ages and from different countries, clambered into a Salzburg hostel room with two red metal bunk beds for a long weekend.
I don't know why, but a group of grown women in bunk beds somehow seems ridiculous. The bunk beds seemed to inject Emilia, my friend from Singapore, and I with nostalgia of younger, sillier years, and we were overcome by uncontrollable and unstoppable fits of giggling initiated by no found source. The type where you think you have regained your composure and clumsily wipe away the tears streaming down your face and neck, when suddenly and most inexplicably, something sets you off into another onslaught of hysterics.
Maybe only girls can recall this event from sleepovers past, but there is something remarkably liberating and satisfying about these outbursts of sheer innocent immaturity. Laughing until you cry and continuing until it hurts and you are left curled into a ball gasping for air.
Ironically, the excursion made Emilia and I grow a lot closer, and I feel it drove my other friend and I apart. That's the tricky thing about traveling with friends. They say sometimes even the best of friends can't travel or live with each other. I feel this was the most disappointing aspect of the trip. The fact that my friend and I had anticipated it for so long, an adventure together that would strengthen our friendship, give us a shared memory, be a time to enjoy each others' company created the antipode of our intention.
When we returned from that weekend, we barely spoke, and when we did, it was civil, but that was about the extent of it. Silence is everything unexpressed in stereo. I am not sure what happened between us, other than the fact that we are not compatible travel partners, but something significant occurred. The friendship we had established over the past seven months, all destroyed in one weekend it seems. Perhaps then, I should really ask myself how legit our friendship was to begin with. It's a shame either way.
On the flip side, Emilia and I really bonded. Emilia, my Muslim friend from the other side of the world, and I make sense. We are similar. I represent her younger more carefree days, and she represents a possible, future me. Her laugh is awesome. A giggle like no other. I hope to see her again soon.
Vienna
I had another short jaunt in Austria a few weeks later. My Croatian friend, Milan, who lived in the same hostel in Budapest, was studying in Vienna for the semester. We had planned my visit and I was to stay in his flat for the weekend. However, he somehow muddled up the date of my visit with the visit of five of his Croatian buddies. So, we all ended up coming on the same weekend.
Originally, I was super put-off by this error. How could he mistake the dates after several emails and conformations?! Then, it dawned on me. Five Croatian boys, one Croatian gal, and myself, how could this be bad? 5:2 not a bad ratio. Especially if even one of the boys was cute!?
It turns out they were all attractive and diverse! There was Ivan, the tall, adorable, and slightly goofy one, Jakov the reserved, serious and chivalrous one, Zoran, intelligent with a quiet confidence. Then, there was Vito, a bit of a brut, cocky, brawny and unexpectedly sexy. There was also Milan, who was the same Milan as when I first met him, minus seven inches of hair. Maja, the girl, was an absolute doll. I really enjoyed her, too!
Our sleeping arrangements did not exactly work out as planned, but few things in life DO actually go as planned. Milan had a friend with 6 extra beds, which worked out considering there were 5 of us, and Milan shared an apartment with a 70-something Bulgarian man. His friend, Nick, from Hong Kong had the keys to the flat beside his. Granted, we didn't realize at the time that it did not belong to him nor did he have any right to actually let us sleep there.
The first night, somehow, really who knows how it happened like this, but taking the cabs home only half of us made it to this spare apartment. So, Maja, myself, and Vito arrived at the extra flat and we laid our weary heads down for a pleasant rest.
In the morning, I hear voices.... voices I don't recognize. Still half asleep, I can't recognize who's voices they are, but I do realize they sounds angry. I was in a second room and couldn't see who it was. Then, I heard Vito say, "I don't understand you. Speak English please."
"Why are you here!?" demanded the mystery voice. At this point I just lay quiet hoping they didn't come into the room I was in.
Vito replied quite stupidly, "Uh... I don't know."
"WHO BROUGHT YOU HERE!?" drilled the man.
Again, Vito replied foolishly, "I don't know." The man and his wife began speaking some foreign tongue to each other rapidly. Luckily, Maja spoke up, "Nick! Nick brought us here."
Nick, the boy from Hong Kong, was their tenant. He simply had the spare keys to the flat. They were demanding we give them 30 euros each and our passports. We gathered our things and threw on our clothes as quick as possible.
They gave us until 1pm to pay or they would kick Nick out. As we walked out of the flat, they looked at us as if we were vicious, horrible criminals, instead of innocent sheep, who didn't know any better. In the end, once they realized we didn't mean any harm, they let us off with only paying 20 euros for all three and confiscated the keys to the extra apartment.
This put us in a predicament with sleeping arrangements. Later on that final evening, all seven of us slept in Milan's flat. Four in his bed and three on the floor. Absolutely ridiculous, but funny.
We spent the weekend cafe-bar-kebab-club hopping because the weather was so unbearable. It snowed during the train ride there, and most of the weekend. The slick sidewalks and my traction-less boots required an armed escort the entire weekend. Lucky for me, there were bountiful options and all attractive.
I can't say that we did any true "cultural" activities or went and saw the sights of Vienna, but I did get to know some fantastic new people, and I hopefully will see them in the spring or summer. They have willingly offered me a place to stay in Rijeka, their hometown on the north coast of Croatia. Oh Croatia the beautiful! I can't wait to go back!
Paris
There seem to only be two opinions of Paris. People either love it or hate it and seldom anything in between. So, I was interested how I would feel about it.
I had the great fortune of staying with two friends from Budapest, who now live in Paris. They had met in Budapest and fell for each other, and two years later are still going strong. Surely, this is a love story all its own for a blog all its own.
Florian picked me up from the airport on a cold December day. The weather left something to be desired, but what could I expect when traveling in December? Florian and I quickly instated a mandatory "awkward silence", to kind of be ironic and realize from not seeing each other for a year and a half, there were bound to be some uneasy moments.
The weather the first days was wretched and made me reluctant to go and be a tourist. Since I had five days, I didn't rush myself and went out and saw a few sights a day. I saw all the major sights in the end: Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame, Pont Neuf, Monmartre, Moulin Rouge, the Bastille, the Louvre along with many others.
Also, to interject some opinions. It seems to be a well documented fact that French people are much thinner than Americans. I have discovered the causes, and it's not only thanks to cigarettes. It is simply a survival necessity. There is no space in Paris!! The apartments are tiny. The cafes and restaurants are so crammed and close together that to be able to fit, one must be thin! To close the bathroom door, one must be thin. To fit in the elevator, yes, one must be tiny.
Plus, the metro system is so spread out with countless stairs and boundless space between lines ample walking is required. Most likely, walking miles a day is a normal part of a Parisian person's life. These factors combined explain why French ladies are so thin.
Unfortunately, these factors are not limited to women, but the men are super thin and petit as well. I would be walking and see an attractive, well-dressed man only to discover he was so small I could probably scoop him up in my arms and carry him on my hip. Is it too much to ask for a strapping, six-footer complete with French accent?
I went to the Louvre on a Friday because it was free. It was also a perfect way to kill time before I had to pick up André, my good German pal, from the train station. I was taking photos from inside the infamous glass pyramid when a man stepped into my shot on accident. (I found Parisians to be extremely polite despite all the stereotypes.) He apologized in French, and I said, "Merci," mainly because I didn't know how to say "No problem."
After I shot a few frames, he came up to me and starting asking me something in French. I stood there mouth gaping with a puzzled look. Then, I attempted to say in French, "I don't speak French," but somehow said, "I don't speak English."
"Ohh Ohh you're English!" he said in French, but clearly I didn't realize what he said, and I nodded my head. In English, he asked, "So, where in England are you from?" I laughed and then sorted out the confusion. He told me I looked German or Scandinavian. He had lived in Scandinavia for a few years and I looked like those girls. I found that absolutely absurd, considering all images I have are tall, skinny, big boobed blondes saying "Ja! Ja!", yet I took it as a compliment.
His name was Abel and we spoke for 40 minutes. He showed me where to put my coat and which entrance I should go in. He worked at a library and was an art history major. He was dressed in a black pea-coat, gray scarf, and "real" shoes, which means leather-bound and lacking any sort of Nike swoosh or shocks system. He had dark, shortly cropped hair that were accompanied by dark eyes.
It wasn't until right before we parted ways that it occurred to me, he wasn't just being friendly, he was interested in me. He gave me his number and asked if I could "escape" from my friends that night. Interesting verb choice, considering that word has such strong connotations of romanticism. I assured him it was impossible that I must and wanted to be with my friends.
He called me the three remaining nights in Paris. Once he realized our meeting would not materialize, and I told him maybe there was hope for a day in January, he compared his efforts to Shakespeare's "Love Labor Lost," stating he had tried everything in his power to make our meeting possible. He continued to write me painfully sappy emails for weeks. He even offered to let me stay with him for my short layover in January.
Needless to say, I stopped writing him shortly after that. It was just too much. American girls can't cope with such forward and saccharine attempts to be swooned. Or are we simply so starved of grand, romantic gestures that even the smell of them make our stomachs churn with skepticism and annoyance? Regardless, I do feel quite doleful that I just stopped contact all together with no explanation, and didn't meet him that day in January, especially considering he took a day off work.
It was the cowardly thing to do, and I am sure karma will repay me. However, being a man of art and literary, he probably secretly loves the pain, to suffer as all great artists have. Surely, it will inspire some brilliant novel where my character is killed off by a plague or war or some tragedy in the early chapters, and in later chapters, his character will meet a dashing, Nordic blonde, etc.
After my encounter with the tender Parisian boy, I zipped around the Louvre seeing the Mona Lisa... of course... because as a tourist you just... have to. Then, I was off to Gare du Nord to meet Andre. I hadn't seen Andre since my birthday in February. He was the exact same.
The four of us spent the weekend touring around, chatting, recalling old Budapest times. It was great, and André and I had the luxury to share an air mattress in their living room/dining room.
We went out one night to a lovely, little French restaurant that served massive salads. After that, we set out to a few bars for a few overpriced drinks. We all journeyed home a bit redder and jollier, although, it was clear the "Budapest" nights of staying up until dawn were a thing of our past.
The night André left and my last, we went to a fondue place in Montmarte. It was fantastic! The place was so tiny that the girls had to step over the tables and shimmy in tightly. That would have been a lot easier and less mortifying if I was Kristy's size. They also served wine in baby bottles. I enjoyed that entire experience immensely, even if I did scald my lip on one of the metal skewers.
Not all of the details of my Parisian experience are blog worthy or appropriate, some aspects confusing and personal. I will say it was a sensational experience. I am thankful to my friends for allowing me to stay with them and to others for making the journey south to visit me!
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