Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Most. Ridiculous. Update. Ever.
Well I've been up to Paris
and I've slept in a park.
Went down to Barcelona
someone broke into my car
And I'll search the world over
for my angel in black.
Yeah, I'll search the world over
for a Eurotrash Girl.
Took the train down to Athens
and I slept in a fountain.
Some Swiss junkie in Turin
ripped me off for my cash.
Yeah, I'll search the world over
for my angel in black.
Yeah, I'll search the world over
for a Eurotrash Girl.
-Chicks on Speed - Eurotrash Girl
Yeah, those lyrics have pretty much never been so appropriate.
I'M BAACK!!
Yes, be afraid. Be very afraid.
Greetings from Europe. I am blogging, finally, partly because I want to and partly because I'm 150% sure that JaG will divorce me if I don't. Yes, I'm in Holland, and yes, Jag and I are officially married. We have the marriage certificate and the adorable matching rings to prove it. This country rocks. I have finally realised my relatives' worst fear -- I went out and married a girl. Ha!
So, I will give you kind people the briefest of possible updates about my European adventure thus far.
I landed in London about a month ago, and spent a week there riding the tube and hanging out with an adorable and sweet Australian guy called Charlie, who was fascinated by my bisexuality and my tendency to talk about a single work of art for fifteen minutes or more. He asked me a LOT of sex questions, and most of the time I obliged him, because I'm a nice girl that way, and because I understand oh-so-well that curiosity does not neccesarily equal judgement. Charlie's one of those rare individuals who's smart as a tack without being nerdy, and confident without being arrogant. I liked him as much as I think you can like a person you've only known for five days.
My next stop was Madrid, where I hung out with Dag and dodged the rude and crude Spaniards. As beautiful as Spain can be, the people there are definitely "economical on the etiquette," as the Lonely Planet so accurately described them. Dag and I went down to Sevilla for her Easter break, where I met her very sweet French-Swiss boyfriend Mel. Sevilla was a beautiful and intoxicating city full of sweet-smelling white orange blossoms and sombre Easter processions. We drank sangria and watched some flamenco, and I mailed some flowers home to Hayley. It was nothing short of spectacular.
Dag and I spent a week in Portugal, where we sunbathed in Lagos, a stunning if slightly Disneylandesque little town of ocean caves and white sand beaches. We moved on to Lisbon, as truly difficult as it was to leave the sunshine and relaxation of Lagos, and spent a fun couple of days in the big city. We went looking for a gay bar that took us an hour and a half to find in the maze of winding streets. We finally stopped at a cute little cafe for directions, mainly because the woman inside looked friendly and non-threatening. She had long curling dark hair, pretty eyes, a facial piercing, and nice legs under a knee-length skirt. You can imagine my shock when she opened her mouth and we realised that she was, in fact, a he. And I thought I could ALWAYS tell! Apparently not. That was a funny night indeed.
I flew from Madrid to Helsinki, Finland, where I spent about ten days with my old high school friend, the G-Man. We took a crazy, liquor-drenched boat cruise to Stockholm, got ridiculously intoxicated and a little bit wild at a club called Studio 51 (hafuckingha, I know), and went hiking in a beautiful national park where we did not see the endangered flying squirrels the place is famous for. I spent two fairly relaxing days on my own in Tallinn, Estonia. Though it's known for being a huge party capital, I spent my time visiting churches and museums and hanging out in the park and in the Old Town square, drinking beer and reading the International Herald-Tribune. That's nerdiness, Eurostyle.
Then....I flew to Amsterdam, and life has been nothing but sunshine and lollipops ever since. Okay, so maybe it rained yesterday, but you get the picture. I had a bit of an anxiety attack on the plane about meeting Jag for the first time, and I had to slow down and repeat to myself: "she's just a girl, she's just a girl, she's just a girl," even though it's been years since that mantra was EVER true for me. When is it EVER just a girl, really? And honestly, the nickname cannot possibly do her justice. Needless to say, I liked her immediately, and have liked her more and more every day since then. She is so wonderfully honest and unpretentious, so sophisticated and beautiful, and yet so very down-to-earth. She is so NOT Just A Girl.
I also met Jag's friend Daisy, who was reeling from a breakup with a rather no-good boy, but was still super-fun and hilarious, even though she was going through some rough times. It was so nice of her to let us stay at her apartment, because you can't get a hostel room in Amsterdam on Queen's Day for love or money. Daisy's exuberance and general enthusiasm for life resulted in her coining several hilarious phrases this weekend, including "that's so STUUPID!" an expression she used in reference to just about anything, the "feeling of wanting," a new word for libido, and "motoerotic," meaning, I suppose, that one enjoys motorized vehicles and mechanization in general. Queen's Day was such a fun time and such a great party -- everyone was wearing orange and was running around drinking and dancing and having a good time. Bicyclemark took us on an amazing boat cruise through the Amsterdam canals, and our little boat literally (and sometimes scarily) rubbed shoulders with huge party boats blasting thumping pop music and filled with writhing, happy people in orange.
I had my first buying-weed-in-Amsterdam experience and I was equal parts shocked and impressed. At home, buying weed takes me about ten phone calls to my somewhat unreliable dealer, followed by the challenging arrangement of a meeting place, followed by several more phone calls, followed by an awkward and scary meeting in a public place, followed by a lot of secrecy and looking both ways. You smoke it in an alley, a park, or in an "adult"-free house or apartment, and you always, always, make sure you don't smell like pot before sauntering past the cops downtown. In Amsterdam there are POT MENUS. Yes, my friends, all the rumours are true. I love this country with all my heart.
And yes, prostitution is legal. None of the serial-killer-dodging by the street hookers downtown exists in Holland. Sure, the girls in the windows do not look particularly happy, but at least they have a chance at life rather than being so vulnerable to violent psychopaths that it's like shooting fish in a barrel. I'll take seedy over dead any day of the week.
Now I'm in the R-to-the-Dam, chilling at Jag's with her rad cats (the Gingerboys are SOOO cute) and Sir Jab himself. Tis a fine time I'm having, indeed. And this weed I'm smoking is rather fantastic, and perhaps too fantastic for me to write anything more that will be coherant and not just trippy.
I hope everything is going swimmingly back home....
LOOK JAG, AN UPDATE!!! HAHA!
Comments, as always, are greatly appreciated.
Cheers,
N
