Ive been a bad, bad girl.
I mean, yeah, I have done a few peoples’ shares of drinking and slept about 12 hours total. But I also have neglected to blog or write anything except for the contact info for new friends. No blogging. No story proposals.
Eh. I am not super concerned and instead have resolved to give myself a free pass (hope you do too) for now — afterall Paris and Rome and Barcelona dont stop so that you can log onto the Net.
That having been said I thought I would give an apertif of the wonderful folks who have come into my world. The funny thing about traveling is that you become great friends with people in such short times and then just as quickly they leave your existences and hopefuly you are a bit better for it. Anyway, here are a few:
In Rome I met a fantastic couple on my last night from Australia named Gemma and Chris ( I later found out his last name is Brown. don’t worry, not that girlfriend beater however). They bravely quit their jobs and are hitting the globe for half a year in search of adventure. We were scheduled to go on a Pub Crawl offered by some guy name Eddie through our hostel. Turns out that Eddie is a shady character just after the 10 euros you shell out to him. You are promised an authentic Italian meal, as much of the best red wine you can drink and extremely exclusive rights to get into a stellar club. This is what you actually get — a pretty good spaghetti dinner the size of something a 6-year-old would eat after waiting more than an hour and a half, the equivalent of boxed wine and a cancellation on the club because Eddies not feeling well. Thank god I had Gemma and Chris to drink and play B.S. with and all the while put up with the shenanigans (and a sketchy fellow Aussie who spilled wine and refused to clean up and almost got kicked out of the hostel for yelling at the staff). Phew!
In Florence I was hosted by Aldo, a typical Italian womanizer who is obsessed with his speedy car. The first night was terrific as he took me to the best pizzeria in the city and introduced me to an Italian alcoholic concoction called Spritz. Then he must have gotten the hint that the California girl (as he called me) would not get into my pants and that if he tried walking around pretty much naked I would hide under the covers on the couch. That’s when he ignored me, and I was forced to check out the city on my own while he spoke in only Italian to his friend. No biggie.
That brings me to Feta, my 60-year-old boyfriend of sorts. This plump, short older gent witnessed me trying to read an Italian newspaper while sipping on cappucino and waiting for my museum appointment. His quick response was to mock this American who clearly doesnt know Italian. Then after some ribbing in broken English Feta insisted on buying me another drink. No cappucino, though, he insisted. It was time for whiskey and some advice that I never marry. Afterall, Feta told me, you can see things in people when you first meet them. And in me, apparently, he saw freedom. Well I’ll be darned.
Lastly I befriended a group of Germans in Valencia in between the fireworks and drunken debauchery that is Las Fallas. Basically I latched on to Tina and her buddies who are on a long weekend from universities throughout Spain. They took me to the greatest dance club in that Spanish city and put up with the fact that I only speak English and some Spanish compared to each of them who must speak about 18 languages apiece. I now equate Germans with hospitality.
Ok, off to try to meet more new buddies in Paris. Kisses!
