Wednesday, December 12, 2007
there will be no christmas this year
... because alice, roxie, and i inadvertantly created an alternative history to catholicism and we lost jesus somewhere before the third trimester.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Thursday, November 29, 2007
NEXT ------>!
this project is killing me.
item one: a ridiculous abstraction of the conception and birth of my littlest sister. to involve "hech en mexico" stickers on her foot, pornographic bouts of bumper cars, in utero laser shows, and the fileting of chicken breasts.
item two: a narrative vaugely reminiscent of "anything girl," but more deeply rooted in a short story i wrote in highschool about attending an all girl's catholic school. this one is to concern young mormon cross country boys and my running away from them.
item one: a ridiculous abstraction of the conception and birth of my littlest sister. to involve "hech en mexico" stickers on her foot, pornographic bouts of bumper cars, in utero laser shows, and the fileting of chicken breasts.
item two: a narrative vaugely reminiscent of "anything girl," but more deeply rooted in a short story i wrote in highschool about attending an all girl's catholic school. this one is to concern young mormon cross country boys and my running away from them.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
art school trauma part uhhhhhhn
a classroom. a young girl.
she has forgotten her art supplies. she approaches her teacher to tell him that she is ill prepared.
he is frustrated. he places his hands around her neck,
not intending to hurt,
it is a physical manifestation of his feeling,
not necessarily an inappropriate way to touch a child
assuming that child is your own.
she is silent.
she is much older than expected.
she wakes up, x years later.
there are handprints on her neck.
she has forgotten her art supplies. she approaches her teacher to tell him that she is ill prepared.
he is frustrated. he places his hands around her neck,
not intending to hurt,
it is a physical manifestation of his feeling,
not necessarily an inappropriate way to touch a child
assuming that child is your own.
she is silent.
she is much older than expected.
she wakes up, x years later.
there are handprints on her neck.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
do over
I filmed this past weekend, but I don't think I'm going to use any of the footage, and if I use any of my original idea it will be an a new, scripted and controlled form. I've received mixed feedback about it so far, and I've tried coming up with alternative events to the one I've chosen, but it consumes and defines me in this moment and my brain has shut off to a certain extent. I feel like anything else would be frivolous and dainty, and I have no interest in that. I want to bleed the beast.
A CONVERSATION
to take place
among a family at a dinner table
all members of which
to be played
by the same actress
who has taken on role playing to the extreme
and is just realizing that she does not
want to be in that position
at all.
other ideas, discarded: observing the processing of chickens at a local organic farm. they weren't too keen on the idea. they hung up on me. a neighbor has chickens, i could check into their life expectancies, but that again falls into demonstrating quite literally what i am feeling: like a chicken running around with its head cut off.
A CONVERSATION
to take place
among a family at a dinner table
all members of which
to be played
by the same actress
who has taken on role playing to the extreme
and is just realizing that she does not
want to be in that position
at all.
other ideas, discarded: observing the processing of chickens at a local organic farm. they weren't too keen on the idea. they hung up on me. a neighbor has chickens, i could check into their life expectancies, but that again falls into demonstrating quite literally what i am feeling: like a chicken running around with its head cut off.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
progress
a wasted weekend.
i filmed for 20 minutes today, for one (possibly two, but most likely one) of the five haikus. this being due to halloween coming up and me having to worry about where i will live and engagements at the sam and at crow. and a series of unfortunate events which led to my friend and actor being unable to help me out today. rightfully so. painfully ironic that she injured her pelvis when the shoot was to be full of fertile imagery. luckily pati is almost as eager as tempeste to be on camera. so it was not entirely futile.
the idea was this.
she rips open a pomegranate
gingerly removing the seeds.
her hands are old.
spur of the moment haiku! it describes it much better than i could have otherwise. interesting.
i filmed for 20 minutes today, for one (possibly two, but most likely one) of the five haikus. this being due to halloween coming up and me having to worry about where i will live and engagements at the sam and at crow. and a series of unfortunate events which led to my friend and actor being unable to help me out today. rightfully so. painfully ironic that she injured her pelvis when the shoot was to be full of fertile imagery. luckily pati is almost as eager as tempeste to be on camera. so it was not entirely futile.
the idea was this.
she rips open a pomegranate
gingerly removing the seeds.
her hands are old.
spur of the moment haiku! it describes it much better than i could have otherwise. interesting.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
birthday party, katharine brush, 1946
They were a couple in their late thirties, and they looked unmistakably married. They sat on the banquette opposite us in a little narrow restaurant, having dinner. The man had a round, self-satisfied face, with glasses on it; the woman was fadingly pretty, in a big hat. There was nothing conspicuous about them, nothing particularly noticeable, until the end of their meal, when it suddenly became obvious that this was an Occasion—in fact, the husband’s birthday, and the wife had planned a little surprise for him.
It arrived, in the form of a small but glossy birthday cake, with one pink candle burning in the center. The headwaiter brought it in and placed it before the husband, and meanwhile the violin-and-piano orchestra played” Happy Birthday to You” and the wife beamed with shy pride over her little surprise, and such few people as there were in the restaurant tried to help out with a pattering of applause. It became clear at once that help was needed, because the husband was not pleased. Instead he was hotly embarrassed, and indignant as his wife for embarrassing him.
You looked at him and you saw this and you thought, “Oh, now, don’t be like that!” But he was like that, and as soon as the little cake had been deposited on the table, and the orchestra had finished the birthday piece, and the general attention had shifted from the man and the woman, I saw him say something to her under his breath—some punishing thing, quick and curt and unkind. I couldn’t bear to look at the woman then, so I stared at my plate and waited for quite a long time. Not long enough, though. She was still crying when I finally glanced over there again. Crying quietly and heartbrokenly and hopelessly,
It arrived, in the form of a small but glossy birthday cake, with one pink candle burning in the center. The headwaiter brought it in and placed it before the husband, and meanwhile the violin-and-piano orchestra played” Happy Birthday to You” and the wife beamed with shy pride over her little surprise, and such few people as there were in the restaurant tried to help out with a pattering of applause. It became clear at once that help was needed, because the husband was not pleased. Instead he was hotly embarrassed, and indignant as his wife for embarrassing him.
You looked at him and you saw this and you thought, “Oh, now, don’t be like that!” But he was like that, and as soon as the little cake had been deposited on the table, and the orchestra had finished the birthday piece, and the general attention had shifted from the man and the woman, I saw him say something to her under his breath—some punishing thing, quick and curt and unkind. I couldn’t bear to look at the woman then, so I stared at my plate and waited for quite a long time. Not long enough, though. She was still crying when I finally glanced over there again. Crying quietly and heartbrokenly and hopelessly,
richard brautigan poems i like
I (it's time to train yourself)
It's time to train yourself
to sleep alone again
and it's so fucking hard.
II (appearing in your own face)
There are days when that is the last place
in the world where you want to be but you
have to be there, like a movie, because it
features you.
III (we are in a kitchen)
We are in a kitchen
in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Some bacon is frying.
It smells like a character
that you like in a good movie.
A beautiful girl is watching
the bacon.
IV (memoirs of jesse james)
I remember all those thousands of hours
that I spent in grade school watching the clock,
waiting for recess or lunch or to go home.
Waiting: for anything but school.
My teachers could easily have ridden with Jesse James
for all the time they stole from me.
V (the sister cities of los alamos, new mexico, and hiroshima, japan)
It was snowing hard when we drove
into Los Alamos. There was a clinical feeling
to the town as if every man, woman and child
were a doctor. We shopped at the Safeway
and got a bag of groceries. A toddler
looked like a brain surgeon. He carefully
watched us shop at the exact place where he would
make his first incision.
VI (feasting and drinking went on far into the night)
Feasting and drinking went on far into the night
but in the end we went home alone to console ourselves
which seems to be what so many things are all about
like the branches of a tree just after the wind
stops blowing.
VII (restuarant)
Fragile, fading 37,
she wears her wedding ring like a trance
and stares straight down at an empty coffee cup
as if she were looking into the mouth of a dead bird.
Dinner is over. Her husband has gone to the toilet.
He will be back soon and then it will be her turn
to go to the toilet.
VIII (as the bruises fade, the lightning aches)
As the bruises fade, the lightning aches.
Last week, making love, you bit me.
Now the blue and dark have gone
and yellow bruises grow toward pale daffodils,
then paler to become until my body
is all my own and what that ever got me.
It's time to train yourself
to sleep alone again
and it's so fucking hard.
II (appearing in your own face)
There are days when that is the last place
in the world where you want to be but you
have to be there, like a movie, because it
features you.
III (we are in a kitchen)
We are in a kitchen
in Santa Fe, New Mexico.
Some bacon is frying.
It smells like a character
that you like in a good movie.
A beautiful girl is watching
the bacon.
IV (memoirs of jesse james)
I remember all those thousands of hours
that I spent in grade school watching the clock,
waiting for recess or lunch or to go home.
Waiting: for anything but school.
My teachers could easily have ridden with Jesse James
for all the time they stole from me.
V (the sister cities of los alamos, new mexico, and hiroshima, japan)
It was snowing hard when we drove
into Los Alamos. There was a clinical feeling
to the town as if every man, woman and child
were a doctor. We shopped at the Safeway
and got a bag of groceries. A toddler
looked like a brain surgeon. He carefully
watched us shop at the exact place where he would
make his first incision.
VI (feasting and drinking went on far into the night)
Feasting and drinking went on far into the night
but in the end we went home alone to console ourselves
which seems to be what so many things are all about
like the branches of a tree just after the wind
stops blowing.
VII (restuarant)
Fragile, fading 37,
she wears her wedding ring like a trance
and stares straight down at an empty coffee cup
as if she were looking into the mouth of a dead bird.
Dinner is over. Her husband has gone to the toilet.
He will be back soon and then it will be her turn
to go to the toilet.
VIII (as the bruises fade, the lightning aches)
As the bruises fade, the lightning aches.
Last week, making love, you bit me.
Now the blue and dark have gone
and yellow bruises grow toward pale daffodils,
then paler to become until my body
is all my own and what that ever got me.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
anxious
i want to get started but i don't necessarily want to create the arc. it will impossible to do this in-camera without that basic step.
in my mind's eye, it already exists. can it exist in a reality where it must be experienced remotely?
in my mind's eye, it already exists. can it exist in a reality where it must be experienced remotely?
Monday, October 8, 2007
retrospect(-acular!)(-tations)(-acle)
I know I still haven't called or spoken most of you, and for that I am sorry. I've been back for nearly a month, and I am in a weird head space where I am not sure how I feel about being home, but the events of this past summer seem long past and entirely surreal at the same time. I keep thinking of Tunisia especially and the whole ordeal in general (I'm in a Spanish medieval literature class where we look at some Arabic translations, and I keep correcting my teacher on some word meanings...) and am saddened by the unnecessary stresses of day to day life here that no matter what I do, I can't seem to get away from. And I am damn tired of talking about my trip to people (which is why I haven't returned your calls, Granny).
Here, in a few short scenes, are my experiences since Sept. 17th:
After a few hours of panic as to how exactly I would make it from airport to the next, I spent the night in Heathrow on a metal chair by the automatic door, freezing and uncomfortable.
The first few nights I was back, I woke up at strange hours completely startled to be where I was and in such darkness. On one such occasion, I thought Loki was a rabid Tunisian dog, come to lick my face into disease ridden oblivion.
I desperately wanted to call someone a gazelle.
I started coaching cross country the first day I was back, with the worst headache imaginable. Since then, I've been running a bit more. Today we had 400's.
This blog will be dedicated to DXarts in the very near future.
sayonara. ciao. adios. au revoir.
Here, in a few short scenes, are my experiences since Sept. 17th:
After a few hours of panic as to how exactly I would make it from airport to the next, I spent the night in Heathrow on a metal chair by the automatic door, freezing and uncomfortable.
The first few nights I was back, I woke up at strange hours completely startled to be where I was and in such darkness. On one such occasion, I thought Loki was a rabid Tunisian dog, come to lick my face into disease ridden oblivion.
I desperately wanted to call someone a gazelle.
I started coaching cross country the first day I was back, with the worst headache imaginable. Since then, I've been running a bit more. Today we had 400's.
This blog will be dedicated to DXarts in the very near future.
sayonara. ciao. adios. au revoir.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
long time no blogging
my apologies. i've been terribly busy enjoying myself.
I am back in Palermo now, from where I will be catching a flight to London tomorrow evening, and from London to Toronto to Seattle on Tuesday.
The past 2 weeks in Tunisia have gone by incredibly quickly, and I'm not sure where to begin.
We spent some time in a city near Tunis called Sidi Bou Said, which has a gorgeous beach and is one of the most expensive places to live in the world, which is not surprising because the entire city is picturesque in its white wash with blue doors and accents. All the pictures you see of blue doors in Tunisia come from Sidi Bou Said. I had an awesome sand fight here a few weeks ago with Mike and Alex, the climax being getting an eyeful of sand from Michael, which required I remove my contact into a makeshift case of purfied Marwa water sealed with gaff tape, and then going to play soccer with most of the class and a handful of Tunisian men in my glasses, with sand crusting out of my tearducts.
On our last day in Tunis, Monsieur Moneer threw a bit of a party for us during which the Cacis celebrated a wedding anniversary and I attempted to thwart any unwanted male attention by replacing sexy dancing with a distant cousin of swing.
Next we went to Douz, where we stayed in a 3 star hotel that had multiple pools and Tristan began his filming of creepy yet beautiful footage.
We spent the next night in the Sahara, which I cannot even begin to describe adequately. We weren't very far from town, we could still see their lights at night, but the dunes stretch for miles in all directions and I definitely rolled down some steep sand dunes, and was still removing sand from my hair until a few days ago. We were in the desert for less than 24 hours, so I tried my damndest to stay awake the whole time and was largely successful. There were shooting stars, a sheet lightning storm, and the most perfect crescent moon.
Matthew also captured a scarab which had wandered unknowningly into our camp grounds. He named it Cous Cous. He wanted to taxidermy it, but it escaped off our tour bus several days later. I was pinned as the responsible for wanting to start the Cous Cous Action Rescue Team (CART), but as fate would have it, the little guy was able to rescue himself just fine.
After the Sahara, which we exited via camel (I don't care if they are worth $10,000 each, I don't want one, or three for that matter!) which was interesting, but painful, since Matthew's camel was retarded and kept running into mine and crushing my legs....
We spent three days too many in Djerba, where we became privy to the dark underbelly of tourism, as Noel referred to it, with a pirate cruise to a small island that reeked of Eurotrash and humiliation on both sides of the tourist coin. We also went to a Mexican themed bar and club, La Bamba, where several of us tore up the dance floor.
Next was Kairouan, where we stayed in a hotel with an unfinished third floor and creepy rooms, where Alli, Amber, and I shared a room, and our water stopped working for several hours, only to start again in time for us to return to a flooded room thanks to our bidet.
And then it was Bizerte, another creepy resort-hotel whose heyday was probably at least 10 years ago. They literally had guard dogs, starving ferocious old dogs tied to posts along the outside of the hotel compound, and a dangreous pool area with open sewers and an underground maintenance room which scared the shit out of me.
And then back to Tunis for three days. I observed the first three days of Ramadan, which was great until I decided to have a sip of water and Allah decided to smite me by taking my voice.
Last night 10 of us rode the ferry back from Tunis to Palermo. I stayed up most of the night watching the stars and the sunrise. This morning, due to a stupid customs process, it took us 2 hours to get off the boat from the time of landing.
Alexis, Anna, Toby and I are sharing a room in an old bed and breakfast in Palermo, which has frescos on the ceiling and is gorgeous. I never thought I would be so happy to be in this godforsaken city, but it has cooled down considerably, the piss stench has settled, and no one is trying to buy me.
Phew.
I am back in Palermo now, from where I will be catching a flight to London tomorrow evening, and from London to Toronto to Seattle on Tuesday.
The past 2 weeks in Tunisia have gone by incredibly quickly, and I'm not sure where to begin.
We spent some time in a city near Tunis called Sidi Bou Said, which has a gorgeous beach and is one of the most expensive places to live in the world, which is not surprising because the entire city is picturesque in its white wash with blue doors and accents. All the pictures you see of blue doors in Tunisia come from Sidi Bou Said. I had an awesome sand fight here a few weeks ago with Mike and Alex, the climax being getting an eyeful of sand from Michael, which required I remove my contact into a makeshift case of purfied Marwa water sealed with gaff tape, and then going to play soccer with most of the class and a handful of Tunisian men in my glasses, with sand crusting out of my tearducts.
On our last day in Tunis, Monsieur Moneer threw a bit of a party for us during which the Cacis celebrated a wedding anniversary and I attempted to thwart any unwanted male attention by replacing sexy dancing with a distant cousin of swing.
Next we went to Douz, where we stayed in a 3 star hotel that had multiple pools and Tristan began his filming of creepy yet beautiful footage.
We spent the next night in the Sahara, which I cannot even begin to describe adequately. We weren't very far from town, we could still see their lights at night, but the dunes stretch for miles in all directions and I definitely rolled down some steep sand dunes, and was still removing sand from my hair until a few days ago. We were in the desert for less than 24 hours, so I tried my damndest to stay awake the whole time and was largely successful. There were shooting stars, a sheet lightning storm, and the most perfect crescent moon.
Matthew also captured a scarab which had wandered unknowningly into our camp grounds. He named it Cous Cous. He wanted to taxidermy it, but it escaped off our tour bus several days later. I was pinned as the responsible for wanting to start the Cous Cous Action Rescue Team (CART), but as fate would have it, the little guy was able to rescue himself just fine.
After the Sahara, which we exited via camel (I don't care if they are worth $10,000 each, I don't want one, or three for that matter!) which was interesting, but painful, since Matthew's camel was retarded and kept running into mine and crushing my legs....
We spent three days too many in Djerba, where we became privy to the dark underbelly of tourism, as Noel referred to it, with a pirate cruise to a small island that reeked of Eurotrash and humiliation on both sides of the tourist coin. We also went to a Mexican themed bar and club, La Bamba, where several of us tore up the dance floor.
Next was Kairouan, where we stayed in a hotel with an unfinished third floor and creepy rooms, where Alli, Amber, and I shared a room, and our water stopped working for several hours, only to start again in time for us to return to a flooded room thanks to our bidet.
And then it was Bizerte, another creepy resort-hotel whose heyday was probably at least 10 years ago. They literally had guard dogs, starving ferocious old dogs tied to posts along the outside of the hotel compound, and a dangreous pool area with open sewers and an underground maintenance room which scared the shit out of me.
And then back to Tunis for three days. I observed the first three days of Ramadan, which was great until I decided to have a sip of water and Allah decided to smite me by taking my voice.
Last night 10 of us rode the ferry back from Tunis to Palermo. I stayed up most of the night watching the stars and the sunrise. This morning, due to a stupid customs process, it took us 2 hours to get off the boat from the time of landing.
Alexis, Anna, Toby and I are sharing a room in an old bed and breakfast in Palermo, which has frescos on the ceiling and is gorgeous. I never thought I would be so happy to be in this godforsaken city, but it has cooled down considerably, the piss stench has settled, and no one is trying to buy me.
Phew.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
BURN OUT!
I am so exhausted!
Thursday was Matt's birthday, so we headed to a bar, but the guy we'd met in the Medina saw us in the city and tagged along, and it made me uncomfortable, so I had my mint tea and left early. I guess some people went back to the bar lasr night and he joined them again and got super creepy, talking about how he had shared his secrets with Cale and that we all need to go to his house next week. I have already RSVPed: NO F/ING WAY.
We went to Carthage for the museum on Friday (it cost 7 dinars, and in my opinion that was 7 dinars too expensive) and then to Sidi Bou Said. It was entirely a group day, which sort of sucked. When everyone got coffee, Toby and I opted to stay by ourselves and talk rather than get lost in the crowd. But the taxi ride home was a blast. The driver tried to explain a popular Arabic song to Matt in French: I love my mother/the earth is my mother/ I open my eyes for to see her/ donate your eyes to my mother. Then he got started on Michael Jackson and we busted out a little ABC and Jackson 5 for him.
Yesterday we had to get up at six to do a group excursion to Dougga to see the Punis and Roman ruins. Everyone was exhausted and I spent the entire bus ride sleeping, and the excursion parts sleep walking. It was interesting seeing how people live, but yesterday I couldn't have cared less. While most people capped the evening off with a creepy bar experience, I opted to stay back and smoke chicha, aka hookah, which still ended up being a bigger affair than I had hoped. Mike and I ducled out and observed some possibly repressed homosexuality in the alley between a hosteler and one of the guys who works here, and Mike was treated to a massage. After several minutes, I was outnumbered as a female five to one and decided it was time to get my white/blonde self inside.
Today, Angie, Anna, Amber, Ayda and I (wow, that is sooooo many A names; I hadn't realized who my compay was) went to find a hamam (Turkish bath) and spent the morning being scrubbed to the point of injury and having difficulty understanding whether we were breaking social taboos by being there 50 years too young, or if we were being given the American price instead of the real one.
After that, Angie, Anna, Jared, Mike, Ayda and I explored the Medina and had some tea for a few hours. The Medina was super quiet, which was such a relief.
The class is getting a tour of the city from the proprietor of the hostel. I am going to hang back and cook dinner with Eric and Mike, and hopefully learn some secrets of Tunisian cooking.
Thursday was Matt's birthday, so we headed to a bar, but the guy we'd met in the Medina saw us in the city and tagged along, and it made me uncomfortable, so I had my mint tea and left early. I guess some people went back to the bar lasr night and he joined them again and got super creepy, talking about how he had shared his secrets with Cale and that we all need to go to his house next week. I have already RSVPed: NO F/ING WAY.
We went to Carthage for the museum on Friday (it cost 7 dinars, and in my opinion that was 7 dinars too expensive) and then to Sidi Bou Said. It was entirely a group day, which sort of sucked. When everyone got coffee, Toby and I opted to stay by ourselves and talk rather than get lost in the crowd. But the taxi ride home was a blast. The driver tried to explain a popular Arabic song to Matt in French: I love my mother/the earth is my mother/ I open my eyes for to see her/ donate your eyes to my mother. Then he got started on Michael Jackson and we busted out a little ABC and Jackson 5 for him.
Yesterday we had to get up at six to do a group excursion to Dougga to see the Punis and Roman ruins. Everyone was exhausted and I spent the entire bus ride sleeping, and the excursion parts sleep walking. It was interesting seeing how people live, but yesterday I couldn't have cared less. While most people capped the evening off with a creepy bar experience, I opted to stay back and smoke chicha, aka hookah, which still ended up being a bigger affair than I had hoped. Mike and I ducled out and observed some possibly repressed homosexuality in the alley between a hosteler and one of the guys who works here, and Mike was treated to a massage. After several minutes, I was outnumbered as a female five to one and decided it was time to get my white/blonde self inside.
Today, Angie, Anna, Amber, Ayda and I (wow, that is sooooo many A names; I hadn't realized who my compay was) went to find a hamam (Turkish bath) and spent the morning being scrubbed to the point of injury and having difficulty understanding whether we were breaking social taboos by being there 50 years too young, or if we were being given the American price instead of the real one.
After that, Angie, Anna, Jared, Mike, Ayda and I explored the Medina and had some tea for a few hours. The Medina was super quiet, which was such a relief.
The class is getting a tour of the city from the proprietor of the hostel. I am going to hang back and cook dinner with Eric and Mike, and hopefully learn some secrets of Tunisian cooking.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Goods aren't the only thing being traded in the Medina...
Apparently women and camels are fair currency exchange too. Although I think I'm worth more than three...
So the ferry ride was beautiful, although I spent a good five hours of it asleep. Basically, one of my roommates in Palermo started to get friendly with Eric and then Eric was suddenly not just our roommate, which was, admittedly, my idea, since his AC was broken... but in fact, our bedmate. Which means no one was getting much sleep: me, because I was dreadfullly uncomfortable and confused; they, because they were having a good time being 29. Needless to say, sleepless in Palermo, I started off the Tunisia portion with a weakened immune system and have since caught the bug that was going around from everyone sharing everything. The highlight of the ferry was playing tag, pictures to follow when they become available.
Tunisian customs took a long ass time, and I started to doze off on the bus to our hostel. We got dropped off by a ministry building flanked by armed guards and stumbled sleepy eyed down dark alley ways on the outskirts of the Medina.
But the hostel is beautiful. It is a historic building once owned by a Turkish government official, with intricate tiles and antique frescoes. Excepting for the fact that all 12 girls are in the same stuffy room, it rules.
Yesterday, the whole class set off in an adventure into the heart of the Medina, a marketplace surrounding the Great Mosque, the second oldest in all of Tunisia. Five minutes in, I was grabbed and offered 2 camels. I couldn't believe what was going on. We tried to bargain, but his top price was three before he admitted that he had no money, and believe me was outta there instantly.
After some frustration with the 20 some person group, five of us escaped and had an alazing lunch for about 15 USD total.
Then we decided to see the parfum souk in the Medina, where I had eyeliner done by a shop owner, Matthew tried on several types of musk and citrone, Mike dabbled in aphrodisiaques, Alli was offered 250 camels, and I was pulled into shops and corners. It was all fun until one shop owner trying to rip me off refused to let me leave and had me by the wrist. Mike and Alli came to my rescue, and suddenly the necklace for 45d was worth 3d.
After that, we chilled on the steps of the Mosque, talking to the shop owner who had done my makeup, and met one of his friends. After an hour of talking, he offered to take us on a tour of the Medina, and we ended up on one of the most amazing roofs known to man.
Dinner at the hostel was amazing and included... Tunisian food is going to put back all the weight I've lost because it is so delicious.
We smoked shisha, but it was like paparazzi as everyone was taking pictures, following Noel's lead (he is on a mission to get beautiful pictures of everyone, and he took some rqd ones of me so I'm not complaining).
Mike, Angie, Eric and I ventured through the medina sometime around 1 looking for a cafe, and were stopped by a man who said "Atencion!" and pulled down his eyelids, pointing in the direction we were going. We chqnged course, ended up lost and chased by a potentially rabid dog, and eventually found a cafe in the Westerized part of town, where Ayda, Noel, and Jared met with us for an hour or so.
I couldn't sleep because it was too damn hot, so I was stuffy and had a headache all day. 14 of us went to the zoo for less than 1 dinar a piece (about 75 cents each) and once we got in, it was little wonder why:
the animals were diseases and emaciated, with cages smaller than my bedroom, with little (putrid) or no water and garbage in their cages. What made me leave was the baboons, whose normally red butt cheeks are cause for amusement: here, they were swollen and bulbous, in some cases, the growth was bigger than the monkey itself.
Four of us left the zoo disgusted and after an unsettling meal, I bailed out on all activity and napped in our sweltering room, where I either dreamt or hallucinated from the heat. I awoke to the evening call for prayer, which I somehow missed yesterday, despite the fact that I was sitting on the mosque steps at 5pm.
I love Tunis.
So the ferry ride was beautiful, although I spent a good five hours of it asleep. Basically, one of my roommates in Palermo started to get friendly with Eric and then Eric was suddenly not just our roommate, which was, admittedly, my idea, since his AC was broken... but in fact, our bedmate. Which means no one was getting much sleep: me, because I was dreadfullly uncomfortable and confused; they, because they were having a good time being 29. Needless to say, sleepless in Palermo, I started off the Tunisia portion with a weakened immune system and have since caught the bug that was going around from everyone sharing everything. The highlight of the ferry was playing tag, pictures to follow when they become available.
Tunisian customs took a long ass time, and I started to doze off on the bus to our hostel. We got dropped off by a ministry building flanked by armed guards and stumbled sleepy eyed down dark alley ways on the outskirts of the Medina.
But the hostel is beautiful. It is a historic building once owned by a Turkish government official, with intricate tiles and antique frescoes. Excepting for the fact that all 12 girls are in the same stuffy room, it rules.
Yesterday, the whole class set off in an adventure into the heart of the Medina, a marketplace surrounding the Great Mosque, the second oldest in all of Tunisia. Five minutes in, I was grabbed and offered 2 camels. I couldn't believe what was going on. We tried to bargain, but his top price was three before he admitted that he had no money, and believe me was outta there instantly.
After some frustration with the 20 some person group, five of us escaped and had an alazing lunch for about 15 USD total.
Then we decided to see the parfum souk in the Medina, where I had eyeliner done by a shop owner, Matthew tried on several types of musk and citrone, Mike dabbled in aphrodisiaques, Alli was offered 250 camels, and I was pulled into shops and corners. It was all fun until one shop owner trying to rip me off refused to let me leave and had me by the wrist. Mike and Alli came to my rescue, and suddenly the necklace for 45d was worth 3d.
After that, we chilled on the steps of the Mosque, talking to the shop owner who had done my makeup, and met one of his friends. After an hour of talking, he offered to take us on a tour of the Medina, and we ended up on one of the most amazing roofs known to man.
Dinner at the hostel was amazing and included... Tunisian food is going to put back all the weight I've lost because it is so delicious.
We smoked shisha, but it was like paparazzi as everyone was taking pictures, following Noel's lead (he is on a mission to get beautiful pictures of everyone, and he took some rqd ones of me so I'm not complaining).
Mike, Angie, Eric and I ventured through the medina sometime around 1 looking for a cafe, and were stopped by a man who said "Atencion!" and pulled down his eyelids, pointing in the direction we were going. We chqnged course, ended up lost and chased by a potentially rabid dog, and eventually found a cafe in the Westerized part of town, where Ayda, Noel, and Jared met with us for an hour or so.
I couldn't sleep because it was too damn hot, so I was stuffy and had a headache all day. 14 of us went to the zoo for less than 1 dinar a piece (about 75 cents each) and once we got in, it was little wonder why:
the animals were diseases and emaciated, with cages smaller than my bedroom, with little (putrid) or no water and garbage in their cages. What made me leave was the baboons, whose normally red butt cheeks are cause for amusement: here, they were swollen and bulbous, in some cases, the growth was bigger than the monkey itself.
Four of us left the zoo disgusted and after an unsettling meal, I bailed out on all activity and napped in our sweltering room, where I either dreamt or hallucinated from the heat. I awoke to the evening call for prayer, which I somehow missed yesterday, despite the fact that I was sitting on the mosque steps at 5pm.
I love Tunis.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Palermo is filthy dirty feral dog infested and stinking hot
I am not a fan of the big group we got going now that class has started. And by class has started I mean that we are being graded on how well we hang out. Example: I was ready on time for a group excursion to the market: "4.0!" During dinner at the apartment I share with two other girls the other night, Alli was playing Civilization 4. Noel walked in: "Alli Urban, 2.8!"
So we'll see how that goes.
I spent Tuesday running errands with Alli. We spent at least 45 minutes in the post office, trying to send a package to the states. It was frustrating, but I was proud of myself sending a package (successfully? we'll soon find out) without knowing any Italian.
On Wednesday, the class went up to Monreale Cathedral, where the Pantocrator and Theotokos (famous Byzantine mosaics) are. The church was stunning, and we stayed on the hill for lunch. Apparently it reached 111° F and is cooler in Tunisia.
On Thursday we had a group outing to the beach. I am a little sick of the salt water but the heat was oppressive. Then I saw a jelly fish and headed in for most of the day. 5 people got stung (none too badly though). We played some ultimate frisbee in the water, which, for my part, mostly consisted of falling down in front of whoever currently handled the frisbee.
Friday we went to Vucceria to get ingredients for a class dinner. Some people went to the Archaeological Museum, but I wasn't digging the group mentality and my alone time got turned into being left behind. Despite that, Eric, Mike, Matt and I made an awesome dinner, I caught up with Jared, and ran around the raw sewage beach front with Angie and Eric until 2am.
So we'll see how that goes.
I spent Tuesday running errands with Alli. We spent at least 45 minutes in the post office, trying to send a package to the states. It was frustrating, but I was proud of myself sending a package (successfully? we'll soon find out) without knowing any Italian.
On Wednesday, the class went up to Monreale Cathedral, where the Pantocrator and Theotokos (famous Byzantine mosaics) are. The church was stunning, and we stayed on the hill for lunch. Apparently it reached 111° F and is cooler in Tunisia.
On Thursday we had a group outing to the beach. I am a little sick of the salt water but the heat was oppressive. Then I saw a jelly fish and headed in for most of the day. 5 people got stung (none too badly though). We played some ultimate frisbee in the water, which, for my part, mostly consisted of falling down in front of whoever currently handled the frisbee.
Friday we went to Vucceria to get ingredients for a class dinner. Some people went to the Archaeological Museum, but I wasn't digging the group mentality and my alone time got turned into being left behind. Despite that, Eric, Mike, Matt and I made an awesome dinner, I caught up with Jared, and ran around the raw sewage beach front with Angie and Eric until 2am.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
A Birthday in Sicily!
Noel, Eric, Mike, Jared, Alli and I rented a paddle boat after a huge ordeal where the Italians refused to let us pasty people onto the beach or rent sail boats.
All in all, it was totally relazing and fun times until Noel decided to mess with some snorkeling Italians. He swam right under their noses and surfaced about two inches away from one man's face, saying "Scuzzi!" The man was hunting (for what, I don't know) and waved a huge knife in Noel's face. A bit earlier, I swam with a lighter in my mouth to another paddleboat full of Italians, and when they found out we were students, they refused to believe Noel was a professor.
Later, as more people showed up, we went on an excursion for food and I ended up eating a sandwich made of unidentifiable meat stewed in lard. Needless to say, I didn't eat much of it.
Everyone stayed up to play Bocce Ball in a nearby park and get drunk. I conked out early. They tried to tell me I had to stay awake because it was my birthday. I told them that because it was my birthday, I would do as I pleased and sleep.
All in all, it was totally relazing and fun times until Noel decided to mess with some snorkeling Italians. He swam right under their noses and surfaced about two inches away from one man's face, saying "Scuzzi!" The man was hunting (for what, I don't know) and waved a huge knife in Noel's face. A bit earlier, I swam with a lighter in my mouth to another paddleboat full of Italians, and when they found out we were students, they refused to believe Noel was a professor.
Later, as more people showed up, we went on an excursion for food and I ended up eating a sandwich made of unidentifiable meat stewed in lard. Needless to say, I didn't eat much of it.
Everyone stayed up to play Bocce Ball in a nearby park and get drunk. I conked out early. They tried to tell me I had to stay awake because it was my birthday. I told them that because it was my birthday, I would do as I pleased and sleep.
it's so heavy, baby
Wooohooo!
We're in Palermo, where we'll be for the next 7+ days! I am so excited not to move!
Alli and I were catcalled by the nastiest dude on our way to Roma's Termini Stazione to head off to Napoli to meet Eric and Noel. He seemed to think we couldn't handle our backpacks, and tols us they were so heavy it was CRAZY, baby. And off the train, we had these guys drive around twice, as if our ignoring them meant that we just hadn't heard. I think the only two English words any given Italian man knows for sure is HEY and BABY.
The Stromboli plan was ditched after a late night in the Aversa suburb of Napoli (which is a nappy city, badadum-CHA!) with one of Eric's friends. We got kicked off a train for being ticketless, then got to the ferry terminal about 12 hours too early. Noel wanted to head to Palermo to get working on the class, so Eric, Alli and I decided to accompany him.
We ran into Mike and Jared on the train, and it was a party train from there on out.... meaning we mostly napped because everyone was so beat.
In Palermo, we all crammed into Noel's apartment and went to a bar right next door that had like 50 different kinds of beers and bruschetta for way too much money.
Yesterday, Eric, Mike, Jared, Alli and I went to the beach. The water was an unreal color of teal (save for the pea soup green for the first 15 feet where all the algae collects) and was as warm as bath water. We had a chicken fight, in which I lost every round, regardless of partner and position.
Then we went on an excursion for a super market, which took several hours, and by the time we foudn one, the flourescent lights and buzzing gave me such a horrible headache that I thought I was going to be sick and had to chill out for a while. But we cooked dinner to the 8 1/2 sound track, which was amazing, and our midnight meal was pretty bomb too.
We went on an evening walk where we encountered various feral dogs and a dead kitten. Palermo is quite the city.
We're in Palermo, where we'll be for the next 7+ days! I am so excited not to move!
Alli and I were catcalled by the nastiest dude on our way to Roma's Termini Stazione to head off to Napoli to meet Eric and Noel. He seemed to think we couldn't handle our backpacks, and tols us they were so heavy it was CRAZY, baby. And off the train, we had these guys drive around twice, as if our ignoring them meant that we just hadn't heard. I think the only two English words any given Italian man knows for sure is HEY and BABY.
The Stromboli plan was ditched after a late night in the Aversa suburb of Napoli (which is a nappy city, badadum-CHA!) with one of Eric's friends. We got kicked off a train for being ticketless, then got to the ferry terminal about 12 hours too early. Noel wanted to head to Palermo to get working on the class, so Eric, Alli and I decided to accompany him.
We ran into Mike and Jared on the train, and it was a party train from there on out.... meaning we mostly napped because everyone was so beat.
In Palermo, we all crammed into Noel's apartment and went to a bar right next door that had like 50 different kinds of beers and bruschetta for way too much money.
Yesterday, Eric, Mike, Jared, Alli and I went to the beach. The water was an unreal color of teal (save for the pea soup green for the first 15 feet where all the algae collects) and was as warm as bath water. We had a chicken fight, in which I lost every round, regardless of partner and position.
Then we went on an excursion for a super market, which took several hours, and by the time we foudn one, the flourescent lights and buzzing gave me such a horrible headache that I thought I was going to be sick and had to chill out for a while. But we cooked dinner to the 8 1/2 sound track, which was amazing, and our midnight meal was pretty bomb too.
We went on an evening walk where we encountered various feral dogs and a dead kitten. Palermo is quite the city.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Roman Holiday
And I'm not just making a cutsie reference to the Audrey Hepburn/Gregory Peck movie. Rome is really on holiday today and tomorrow, and I have no idea why.
But that means that everything is either closed (like the Sistine Chapel and all the stores) or packed with hours of waiting (like the Vatican and Bocca della Verità.)
We waited in line for an hour at least for the Vatican to go to the Cupola (7€ for an elevator + 321 stairs, 5€ for 551 stairs. We chose the stairs.) It was worth it... despite the packed, dizzyingly small, spiral stairs... and the cost... to get to the top and see all of Rome. Unfortunately, back in St. Peter's basilica, my camera ran out of memory and I had to put it away. And I failed to find any bracelets that had the Pope on it. We found some amazingly cheesy postcards with John Paul kissing fat babies with leprosy, and cards that demonstrated how much Benedict looks like Satan in comparison to other men of the Church. But no Pope bracelets. (Sorry, kiddies. Those were going to be my present for you.)
We didn't make it to any ruins or the bocca because by then we were on a mission for, you guessed it, Chinese food! HOWEVER, the tourist maps we recieved from our hostel SUCKED and so even though I'm an excellent navigational director, we kept ending up on streets we weren't supposed to, and we legitimately walked around in a circle at least once. But the 6 hours of walking and stair climbing made the wontons all the more satisfying.
The train station Termini is totally scary and huge and in the worst part of town. Last night, Alli and I were impatient to find a hostel that Tirzah had recommended, but the line for Tourist Information was loooooooooooooooong and they didn't have maps readily available. After three failed attempts to find the Via Cavour, we waited in line for the damn map. And luckily too, since getting lost may have cost us a bedroom. As it were, we barely beat out another pair of traveling chickies by about three minutes.
This morning, we were woken up by about 10 minutes of incoherent bell ringing from Lord knows which church.
Alli and I watched some quality Italian TV, meaning: Will & Grace in Italian, MTv Italy, and Popular in Italian, a show that ran for about 2 seasons when I was in 8th grade. I loved it, and had forgotten about it until now.
I am really starting to like Acqua Minerale Frizzante.
But that means that everything is either closed (like the Sistine Chapel and all the stores) or packed with hours of waiting (like the Vatican and Bocca della Verità.)
We waited in line for an hour at least for the Vatican to go to the Cupola (7€ for an elevator + 321 stairs, 5€ for 551 stairs. We chose the stairs.) It was worth it... despite the packed, dizzyingly small, spiral stairs... and the cost... to get to the top and see all of Rome. Unfortunately, back in St. Peter's basilica, my camera ran out of memory and I had to put it away. And I failed to find any bracelets that had the Pope on it. We found some amazingly cheesy postcards with John Paul kissing fat babies with leprosy, and cards that demonstrated how much Benedict looks like Satan in comparison to other men of the Church. But no Pope bracelets. (Sorry, kiddies. Those were going to be my present for you.)
We didn't make it to any ruins or the bocca because by then we were on a mission for, you guessed it, Chinese food! HOWEVER, the tourist maps we recieved from our hostel SUCKED and so even though I'm an excellent navigational director, we kept ending up on streets we weren't supposed to, and we legitimately walked around in a circle at least once. But the 6 hours of walking and stair climbing made the wontons all the more satisfying.
The train station Termini is totally scary and huge and in the worst part of town. Last night, Alli and I were impatient to find a hostel that Tirzah had recommended, but the line for Tourist Information was loooooooooooooooong and they didn't have maps readily available. After three failed attempts to find the Via Cavour, we waited in line for the damn map. And luckily too, since getting lost may have cost us a bedroom. As it were, we barely beat out another pair of traveling chickies by about three minutes.
This morning, we were woken up by about 10 minutes of incoherent bell ringing from Lord knows which church.
Alli and I watched some quality Italian TV, meaning: Will & Grace in Italian, MTv Italy, and Popular in Italian, a show that ran for about 2 seasons when I was in 8th grade. I loved it, and had forgotten about it until now.
I am really starting to like Acqua Minerale Frizzante.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
I roll gangsta in my housewife do rag
The train to Bologna was a bit sketchy feeling. Just as I was flashing my Verona gang sign, a man got on and gave us "I love Verona" post cards that had Romeo and Juliet on them, along with Spiderman and a guide to ASL. Then he came back to demand money or take them back. By then we had thrown them under the seats. We let him take them back.
The train to Roma was a beautiful Eurostar contraption, and the couple opposite us was totally in love in a childlike playful way. I was jealous. So I drew pictures of the Pope. Alli and I saw this poster the other day that had the Pope waving to a crowd of girls, with a cut out of a person missing. It said MANCHI SOLO TU, which I took to mean, "You're missing!" Since when did the Pope become a sexy rockstar to whom little chickies throw their undergarments?
Dear Diary Moments V
Dear Diary,
The cutest waiter at a café spoke Italian, English, and German. I don't know what else to say about him except that after a margarita I was tempted to pinch his... errr... wallet. I left his tip in a big lipstick heart instead.
13 August 20:00
Dear Diary,
A conversation I had on the street:
BOY: Alò!
ME: Hello
BOY: Yes?
ME: No!
13 August 20:02
Dear Diary,
As I was checking out of the hostel this morning, the girl in front of me looked strangely familiar.... I was telling Alli about how I was pretty sure she was my long lost friend Tirzah, but that I could be sure. We rounded the corner, and there she was again! And it was Tirzah!
We've spent the past 4 hours catching up. :) She is heading towards the end of 3 mos. abroad. I can't believe we ran into each other in Italy. THIS RULEZ!!
14 August 13:10
The cutest waiter at a café spoke Italian, English, and German. I don't know what else to say about him except that after a margarita I was tempted to pinch his... errr... wallet. I left his tip in a big lipstick heart instead.
13 August 20:00
Dear Diary,
A conversation I had on the street:
BOY: Alò!
ME: Hello
BOY: Yes?
ME: No!
13 August 20:02
Dear Diary,
As I was checking out of the hostel this morning, the girl in front of me looked strangely familiar.... I was telling Alli about how I was pretty sure she was my long lost friend Tirzah, but that I could be sure. We rounded the corner, and there she was again! And it was Tirzah!
We've spent the past 4 hours catching up. :) She is heading towards the end of 3 mos. abroad. I can't believe we ran into each other in Italy. THIS RULEZ!!
14 August 13:10
Monday, August 13, 2007
Verona, City of Romeo and Giuletta
If Alli and I were being paid to walk, we could have raised enough money to cure cancer a million times over.
On the train from Milan to Verona, I couldn't keep my eyes open, and slept with my mouth OPEN AGAIN!!! I don't know what my problem is!!
Once in Verona, we started to look for our hostel, but neither of us had written down the address and the number was disconnected, so we were at a loss of what to do. Luckily an angel from a 3 star hotel told us where the Ostello was and wrote down directions and instructed us on how to take the bus. But we missed the bus three times, confused about whether or not we needed tickets and where the bus was going. Needless to say, spirits were low and tensions were high.
We showered for the first time in three days! Then we sped walked to the arena where Aida was showing, but since we didn't have a mpa or tickets, it was also a tad bit stressful. Luckily we made it in, and not too late at that. But the Italian boys hawking Pepsi and vino were creepy in the creepy sort of way and had their eyes on Alli. I was ready to bite their ankles.
The sets, costumes, and dancing were amazing, but I liked the special effects (glitter! fire!) best. We had to leave a bit early for various reasons: a) we were both falling asleep and b) our ostello closed at midnight.
9 AM is a fairly early checkout time, but we didn't have a choice since they lock the bedrooms.
We got breakfast at a cute caffeteria, where I had the most delicious coffee I've ever had, and amazing "toast" that was really a grilled cheese and pancetta.
We walked around (leisurely, thank God!) and window shopped at places I will never be able to afford (99€ for underwear?) Had lovely Chinese food (I think this is a theme here...) and Alli got an AMAZING gelato that had whipped cream and chocolately cherries. I almost died in its arms tonight.
Alli and I don't know any Italian. We don't even know how to ask if people speak English. I have never felt like such a JERK.
But I do know how to make Italian noises (Eeeeeeeeh!) so I think that will get me by (Alli says I'm an embarrassment). My first Italian noise, by the way, was more like Aarrauuuughmmmmmppphhhhhfffff though, which was not what I was expecting at all.
On the train from Milan to Verona, I couldn't keep my eyes open, and slept with my mouth OPEN AGAIN!!! I don't know what my problem is!!
Once in Verona, we started to look for our hostel, but neither of us had written down the address and the number was disconnected, so we were at a loss of what to do. Luckily an angel from a 3 star hotel told us where the Ostello was and wrote down directions and instructed us on how to take the bus. But we missed the bus three times, confused about whether or not we needed tickets and where the bus was going. Needless to say, spirits were low and tensions were high.
We showered for the first time in three days! Then we sped walked to the arena where Aida was showing, but since we didn't have a mpa or tickets, it was also a tad bit stressful. Luckily we made it in, and not too late at that. But the Italian boys hawking Pepsi and vino were creepy in the creepy sort of way and had their eyes on Alli. I was ready to bite their ankles.
The sets, costumes, and dancing were amazing, but I liked the special effects (glitter! fire!) best. We had to leave a bit early for various reasons: a) we were both falling asleep and b) our ostello closed at midnight.
9 AM is a fairly early checkout time, but we didn't have a choice since they lock the bedrooms.
We got breakfast at a cute caffeteria, where I had the most delicious coffee I've ever had, and amazing "toast" that was really a grilled cheese and pancetta.
We walked around (leisurely, thank God!) and window shopped at places I will never be able to afford (99€ for underwear?) Had lovely Chinese food (I think this is a theme here...) and Alli got an AMAZING gelato that had whipped cream and chocolately cherries. I almost died in its arms tonight.
Alli and I don't know any Italian. We don't even know how to ask if people speak English. I have never felt like such a JERK.
But I do know how to make Italian noises (Eeeeeeeeh!) so I think that will get me by (Alli says I'm an embarrassment). My first Italian noise, by the way, was more like Aarrauuuughmmmmmppphhhhhfffff though, which was not what I was expecting at all.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Transit (Finally!)
(I am pretending we're still in transit, luckily we've been stationary a few days. Ok, here goes:)
We are on a train heading from Milan to Verona, awaiting take off (if you can call it that)
I just ate some delicious Italian pizze!
On the train from Nice to Milan, I mostly slept. We were in a train cabin like those in Harry Potter, and the 4 other passengers were strapping (young-ish) men, one of which started at me constantly, even while I slept, with my mouth WIDE OPEN. Then I lost control of my head and was unable to support it with my neck. I was like a baby who doesn't know how to use its muscles, with its head flopping all around.
Looks like we're going to make it to the opera after all!
We are on a train heading from Milan to Verona, awaiting take off (if you can call it that)
I just ate some delicious Italian pizze!
On the train from Nice to Milan, I mostly slept. We were in a train cabin like those in Harry Potter, and the 4 other passengers were strapping (young-ish) men, one of which started at me constantly, even while I slept, with my mouth WIDE OPEN. Then I lost control of my head and was unable to support it with my neck. I was like a baby who doesn't know how to use its muscles, with its head flopping all around.
Looks like we're going to make it to the opera after all!
Dear Diary Moments IV
Dear Diary,
I just had the best theft experience ever. Everything lost was recovered withint 10 minutes and within 10 feet of me.
I woke up on a night train to Nice startled, and saw my purse pushed up under the seat in front of me. My glasses case was on the seat in front of me. I looked through and nothing was missing-- not money, not credit cards, not my camera.
Then I realize my Eurail Pass is gone, along with my passport, and I start to panic.
Luckily, it was two chairs behind me.
The whole experience was very bizarre. I think a conductor was trying to show me how easily I could be robbed. And all within 24 hours of an actual thievery attempt. I am never parting with my purse again!
12 August 06:57
I just had the best theft experience ever. Everything lost was recovered withint 10 minutes and within 10 feet of me.
I woke up on a night train to Nice startled, and saw my purse pushed up under the seat in front of me. My glasses case was on the seat in front of me. I looked through and nothing was missing-- not money, not credit cards, not my camera.
Then I realize my Eurail Pass is gone, along with my passport, and I start to panic.
Luckily, it was two chairs behind me.
The whole experience was very bizarre. I think a conductor was trying to show me how easily I could be robbed. And all within 24 hours of an actual thievery attempt. I am never parting with my purse again!
12 August 06:57
Saturday, August 11, 2007
And everything seemed to be going so well...
A baby dear taking its first unsure steps out of the amniotic fluid.
That is how my legs feel right now.
Yesterday I hate.
Alli and I missed our train out of Barcelona because tickets weren't required and we waited around the wrong station. At 19:00, I got concerned about our destination not showing up on the departures screen when it was supposed to leave at 19:25. Turns out it left from the station across town. So we decided to speed walk to the nearest Metro station, which is really about 10 minutes away. And then we started to get on the Metro in the wrong direction, since the stops and Vías are poorly marked. We arrived at L'Estació Sants at 19:30, but trains wait for no one.
I tried to get help from the ticket desk, but the man just laughed at nuestro gran problema, gave us a partial refund, and sent us on our merry way.
It was not merry.
We started to look for flights, but couldn't find any feasible options. At 22:00, unable to get any help from the dear staff of Sants, we decided to head towards the area of town we were familiar with. On foot.
We walked for almost 3 hours.
At 1:00, after being told there was no room at the inn at several inns, and having made it miraculously to a well lit, populated area, we paid 7.50€ each for a big punch bowl of coke on Las Ramblas.
L'Estacio França, where we supposed we could resolve our problems, did not open until 5. We tried to stay in a Burger King (cerrado a las 3) and opted to spend the night in a well-lit park nearby. Sitting pack to pack to prevent any thievery attempts, we tried to read.
We were distracted by the most beautiful couple, having the steamiest, most passionate makeout session imaginable. For 30 minutes, the cutest girl and guy went at it. Totally shameless. Totally incredible. And I was trying to read Lolita. But the making out was better.
We were approached by a young American man, John, who asked us if we were taking turns sleeping and guarding our stuff. We told him we weren't planning on sleeping, but that he could go ahead and rest if need be. Meanwhile, a Gambian drug lord sauntered over and wanted to know our names, music preferences, whether or not we could sing, and which one of us belonged to the American. Eventually, after imploring me to continue with my version of Drop It Like It's Hot, to no avail, Drug Lord Alex left, and Alli and I talked with our fellow traveler about the army, politics, America, and you guessed it, traveling.
Around 4:45, just when we were getting ready to head to the station to find a more secure place to finally rest and to try to take care of the tickets fiasco, our little friend returned. He wanted to know how it could be that a man could have more than one wife (John had told him he had 4 when asked which girl he belonged to), and whether I would help him come to U.S. We told him he would have to contact George Bush directly, he didn't like this answer and wanted to "research [my] mind to make [me] think about it." It may have been a marriage proposal. I'm not sure. But I definitely was not going to accept. Half an hour later, we left for França.
Where they couldn't help us and sent us to Sants.
Where they couldn't (or wouldn't) help us.
But boy, did they like gossipping about me during the 15 minutes I bawled my eyes out, frustrated that we couldn't secure a Milan connection, by how unkindly we were treated, and by the fact that my Spanish seems to have failed me.
Eventually we got breakfast. After another 2 hour walk and several failed attempts to find eggs.
I have never liked bacon so much as I did this morning.
That is how my legs feel right now.
Yesterday I hate.
Alli and I missed our train out of Barcelona because tickets weren't required and we waited around the wrong station. At 19:00, I got concerned about our destination not showing up on the departures screen when it was supposed to leave at 19:25. Turns out it left from the station across town. So we decided to speed walk to the nearest Metro station, which is really about 10 minutes away. And then we started to get on the Metro in the wrong direction, since the stops and Vías are poorly marked. We arrived at L'Estació Sants at 19:30, but trains wait for no one.
I tried to get help from the ticket desk, but the man just laughed at nuestro gran problema, gave us a partial refund, and sent us on our merry way.
It was not merry.
We started to look for flights, but couldn't find any feasible options. At 22:00, unable to get any help from the dear staff of Sants, we decided to head towards the area of town we were familiar with. On foot.
We walked for almost 3 hours.
At 1:00, after being told there was no room at the inn at several inns, and having made it miraculously to a well lit, populated area, we paid 7.50€ each for a big punch bowl of coke on Las Ramblas.
L'Estacio França, where we supposed we could resolve our problems, did not open until 5. We tried to stay in a Burger King (cerrado a las 3) and opted to spend the night in a well-lit park nearby. Sitting pack to pack to prevent any thievery attempts, we tried to read.
We were distracted by the most beautiful couple, having the steamiest, most passionate makeout session imaginable. For 30 minutes, the cutest girl and guy went at it. Totally shameless. Totally incredible. And I was trying to read Lolita. But the making out was better.
We were approached by a young American man, John, who asked us if we were taking turns sleeping and guarding our stuff. We told him we weren't planning on sleeping, but that he could go ahead and rest if need be. Meanwhile, a Gambian drug lord sauntered over and wanted to know our names, music preferences, whether or not we could sing, and which one of us belonged to the American. Eventually, after imploring me to continue with my version of Drop It Like It's Hot, to no avail, Drug Lord Alex left, and Alli and I talked with our fellow traveler about the army, politics, America, and you guessed it, traveling.
Around 4:45, just when we were getting ready to head to the station to find a more secure place to finally rest and to try to take care of the tickets fiasco, our little friend returned. He wanted to know how it could be that a man could have more than one wife (John had told him he had 4 when asked which girl he belonged to), and whether I would help him come to U.S. We told him he would have to contact George Bush directly, he didn't like this answer and wanted to "research [my] mind to make [me] think about it." It may have been a marriage proposal. I'm not sure. But I definitely was not going to accept. Half an hour later, we left for França.
Where they couldn't help us and sent us to Sants.
Where they couldn't (or wouldn't) help us.
But boy, did they like gossipping about me during the 15 minutes I bawled my eyes out, frustrated that we couldn't secure a Milan connection, by how unkindly we were treated, and by the fact that my Spanish seems to have failed me.
Eventually we got breakfast. After another 2 hour walk and several failed attempts to find eggs.
I have never liked bacon so much as I did this morning.
Dear Diary Moments III
Dear Diary,
This morning, as Alli and I walked past L'Arc de Triomf to get to the metro station to get to Sants to buy train tickets to get us to Milan, I caught a glimpse of the Torre Abgar, the giant fallic building located just outside the city's center. Excited by this beacon of hope, Barcelona's own morning wood, a symbol of life and creation and enduring esperanza, I declared my love for the early morning boner.
Upon exclamation, a young man of unidentified ethnicity hollered at me from the passenger's side of his best friend's ride, asking for my phone number. I told him it was long distance and that I doubted he could afford it.
11 agosto 7:24
This morning, as Alli and I walked past L'Arc de Triomf to get to the metro station to get to Sants to buy train tickets to get us to Milan, I caught a glimpse of the Torre Abgar, the giant fallic building located just outside the city's center. Excited by this beacon of hope, Barcelona's own morning wood, a symbol of life and creation and enduring esperanza, I declared my love for the early morning boner.
Upon exclamation, a young man of unidentified ethnicity hollered at me from the passenger's side of his best friend's ride, asking for my phone number. I told him it was long distance and that I doubted he could afford it.
11 agosto 7:24
Friday, August 10, 2007
the beginning of the end
Alright. Refreshed by an hour and half of sleep, I can now recount yesterday's events. And really all the events that have transpired in Barcelona.
After arriving and showering, Alli and I explored Las Ramblas looking for food. We met a testy Turk who said, "What, you don't speak English?" when I couldn't understand what he was asking me. Taken aback, I answered, "No, un poco..." I need to toughen up.
We went to the beach, which was beautiful and exquisitely filthy. It is odd knowing we're along the Meditteranean, while the only large body of water I've dealt with extensively is the Pacific.
That night, we had dinner at a café downstairs from our hostel, and had our first experience of Barcelona's prepackaged food. Essentially, every restaurant purchases Paella and Italian favorites from a company and serves it based on the price of the rest of the restaurant's food, and they advertise this shamelessly. For example, at the café we ate at this first night, a chicken paella sot 7.50€. At the restauarant we ate at the following day for lunch, the exact same dish from the exact same company cost 9.20€.
We happened upon a sexually charged acrobatic street performance on Wednesday night, which was hilarous, and then walked out on a pier that extends into the sea, lined with boats and capped by a huge shopping mall and aquarium.
The next day, we had a late lunch and purchased our train tickets to leave for Verona, and explored this cool park where there is a giant statue of a woolly mammoth, a beautiful fountain, a zoo, several museums, a fountain decorated with devil children attempting to drown one another, and manicured lawns spotted with palm trees. Later on, we went to a jazz club where everyone else looked like an older, Spanish version of my uncle Blaise, save a cute guitar player, and then to a restaurant near the beach where our waiter spoke 7 languages, with plans to learn 3 more in the coming year, and explained to us the wonders of a woman's walk, la chula.
Friday was meant to be our touristy day as we killed the time before our train left. We dropped our bags off at a bus station (the lockers at França were closed down for the summer. Assholes.) and walked to la iglesia de la Sagrada Familia.
I'd say this was the first snag in what became a downward spiral. It cost 8€ to go inside. Alli and I chose to take pictures with a man dressed as Jesús instead, for a grand total of 20 cents.
Then we decide to check out some of the other architecture by Gaudí that is scattered throughout the city. La Petrada, however, also costs 8€. Coincidence, or conspiracy?
Our money was better spent on books in Spanish and lunch at the Chicago Pizza Pie Factory.
With plenty of time to kill, we picked up our bags from the bus stop and decided to have a lovely little read in the cool park. Where two men attempted to relieve us of our belongings. Luckily, Alli apparently has a sixth sense for thievery, since she looked over at a man trying to ease my purse away from the pile of stuff, and then countered with "Do you have a cigarette?" when she asked him what he was doing. The idiot and his accomplice bike away, only to return to attempt to rob the people directly in front of us. It was unnerving (but also hilarious) watching them crabwalk and belly crawl in unison towards a bag just out of its owners sightline. Alli, ever superhero, raced over there to warn the couple of the unwanted visitors and the men collapsed into a pile, pretending to pour over a tourist map.
We left this park for another, but were too paranoid to stay long, since every noise sounded like an attempt on our things. We also developed an antithievery seatbelt devices before setting off in search of internet and getting distracted by the Barcelona hipster shopping scene.
And then we went to França to wait for our train.
Oh, the irony.
After arriving and showering, Alli and I explored Las Ramblas looking for food. We met a testy Turk who said, "What, you don't speak English?" when I couldn't understand what he was asking me. Taken aback, I answered, "No, un poco..." I need to toughen up.
We went to the beach, which was beautiful and exquisitely filthy. It is odd knowing we're along the Meditteranean, while the only large body of water I've dealt with extensively is the Pacific.
That night, we had dinner at a café downstairs from our hostel, and had our first experience of Barcelona's prepackaged food. Essentially, every restaurant purchases Paella and Italian favorites from a company and serves it based on the price of the rest of the restaurant's food, and they advertise this shamelessly. For example, at the café we ate at this first night, a chicken paella sot 7.50€. At the restauarant we ate at the following day for lunch, the exact same dish from the exact same company cost 9.20€.
We happened upon a sexually charged acrobatic street performance on Wednesday night, which was hilarous, and then walked out on a pier that extends into the sea, lined with boats and capped by a huge shopping mall and aquarium.
The next day, we had a late lunch and purchased our train tickets to leave for Verona, and explored this cool park where there is a giant statue of a woolly mammoth, a beautiful fountain, a zoo, several museums, a fountain decorated with devil children attempting to drown one another, and manicured lawns spotted with palm trees. Later on, we went to a jazz club where everyone else looked like an older, Spanish version of my uncle Blaise, save a cute guitar player, and then to a restaurant near the beach where our waiter spoke 7 languages, with plans to learn 3 more in the coming year, and explained to us the wonders of a woman's walk, la chula.
Friday was meant to be our touristy day as we killed the time before our train left. We dropped our bags off at a bus station (the lockers at França were closed down for the summer. Assholes.) and walked to la iglesia de la Sagrada Familia.
I'd say this was the first snag in what became a downward spiral. It cost 8€ to go inside. Alli and I chose to take pictures with a man dressed as Jesús instead, for a grand total of 20 cents.
Then we decide to check out some of the other architecture by Gaudí that is scattered throughout the city. La Petrada, however, also costs 8€. Coincidence, or conspiracy?
Our money was better spent on books in Spanish and lunch at the Chicago Pizza Pie Factory.
With plenty of time to kill, we picked up our bags from the bus stop and decided to have a lovely little read in the cool park. Where two men attempted to relieve us of our belongings. Luckily, Alli apparently has a sixth sense for thievery, since she looked over at a man trying to ease my purse away from the pile of stuff, and then countered with "Do you have a cigarette?" when she asked him what he was doing. The idiot and his accomplice bike away, only to return to attempt to rob the people directly in front of us. It was unnerving (but also hilarious) watching them crabwalk and belly crawl in unison towards a bag just out of its owners sightline. Alli, ever superhero, raced over there to warn the couple of the unwanted visitors and the men collapsed into a pile, pretending to pour over a tourist map.
We left this park for another, but were too paranoid to stay long, since every noise sounded like an attempt on our things. We also developed an antithievery seatbelt devices before setting off in search of internet and getting distracted by the Barcelona hipster shopping scene.
And then we went to França to wait for our train.
Oh, the irony.
chula, not to be confused with chola.
CHÚPEME LOS HUEVOS.
Today sucks.
I was on the verge of publishing a poetically pathetic blog about the events that have transpired in Barcelona these past three days, when it got deleted by a slip of the ring finger.
Alli and I arrived in Barcelona on Wednesday with nowhere to stay. Bleary eyed and bitter about the abrupt wake up on the uncomfortable night train, we were solicited by a man with a kind face offering us shelter. We accepted, but the journey to the hostel, which should have taken 15 minutes, took 2 hours.
I can't do this right now. I have 57 seconds until this hour at the internet café expires and all I want to do is cry.
Today sucks.
I was on the verge of publishing a poetically pathetic blog about the events that have transpired in Barcelona these past three days, when it got deleted by a slip of the ring finger.
Alli and I arrived in Barcelona on Wednesday with nowhere to stay. Bleary eyed and bitter about the abrupt wake up on the uncomfortable night train, we were solicited by a man with a kind face offering us shelter. We accepted, but the journey to the hostel, which should have taken 15 minutes, took 2 hours.
I can't do this right now. I have 57 seconds until this hour at the internet café expires and all I want to do is cry.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
Dear Diary Moments II
Dear Diary,
Today, at a tobacco shop in Barcelona, a group of three old men were very obviously ogling me and commenting about my height and features, thinking I didn´t understand, while I tried to buy stamps. Then I turned to them and said thank you and they were a bit surprised.
8 Agosto 13:29
Dear Diary,
Today, at the beach, an old obese Spanish couple came and the woman removed her top. Apart from her saggy breasts and the man´s bald head, they looked almost identical in a speedo and bikini bottom.
8 Agosto 14:56
Dear Diary,
Today, at the beach, a young man with a thick German accent was taking pictures with his friends. After about 5 minutes of a photoshoot, he asked Alli and I to take a picture with him. We told him we were too tired to stand up, but he could join us on the sand. He did. He reclined back. He screamed ¨Paris Hilton!¨ He said thank you. He stood up. He left. Alli and I giggled.
8 Agosto 14:59
Today, at a tobacco shop in Barcelona, a group of three old men were very obviously ogling me and commenting about my height and features, thinking I didn´t understand, while I tried to buy stamps. Then I turned to them and said thank you and they were a bit surprised.
8 Agosto 13:29
Dear Diary,
Today, at the beach, an old obese Spanish couple came and the woman removed her top. Apart from her saggy breasts and the man´s bald head, they looked almost identical in a speedo and bikini bottom.
8 Agosto 14:56
Dear Diary,
Today, at the beach, a young man with a thick German accent was taking pictures with his friends. After about 5 minutes of a photoshoot, he asked Alli and I to take a picture with him. We told him we were too tired to stand up, but he could join us on the sand. He did. He reclined back. He screamed ¨Paris Hilton!¨ He said thank you. He stood up. He left. Alli and I giggled.
8 Agosto 14:59
Tuesday, August 7, 2007
yo <3 la comida china
Alli and I had to hustle it out of the hostel. The heat had melted our neurons, resulting in bizarre night hallucinations for us both.
We went to El Museo del Prado, where there was a Patinir exhibit. Unfortunately, museums exhaust me and I just wanted to sit down. Fortunately, I got to see perhaps one of the best museums in Europe for 3 euro.
And then we had maybe our best meal so far (it´s a close tie with the St Germain´s cafe, minus the molestation): Spanish Chinese food.
My belly is full of flan.
We went to El Museo del Prado, where there was a Patinir exhibit. Unfortunately, museums exhaust me and I just wanted to sit down. Fortunately, I got to see perhaps one of the best museums in Europe for 3 euro.
And then we had maybe our best meal so far (it´s a close tie with the St Germain´s cafe, minus the molestation): Spanish Chinese food.
My belly is full of flan.
Monday, August 6, 2007
ham tacos?
Alli and I slept in, then moved about 5 doors down to another hostel. Our host, Juan, gave us a map of the city and recommended we get lunch in a nearby Prada. We took his advice and had a lovely outdoor lunch-- excepting the fact that I didn´t really like any of it. I´m not a gazpacho fan, and the tacos were just cold tortillas filled with ham, mustard, onions, etc. So it was like a super soggy sandwich. But Orange Schweppes is delicious!
Today was mainly a day of errands. We went to la estación de Atocha twice to book our train to Barcelona, went to a lavandería to finally get some clean clothes, and then to an internet café. Pretty low key, but lots needed to get done and for the most part, it did.
oh, and we saw the cutest puppies in the tiniest cages in the stinkiest pet store.
Today was mainly a day of errands. We went to la estación de Atocha twice to book our train to Barcelona, went to a lavandería to finally get some clean clothes, and then to an internet café. Pretty low key, but lots needed to get done and for the most part, it did.
oh, and we saw the cutest puppies in the tiniest cages in the stinkiest pet store.
Sunday, August 5, 2007
ay carumba
Alli and I arrived in Madrid yesterday after a 14 hour train ride from Paris (more on that later).
We had no idea as to where to go, so we wandered, and found ourselves lost in a sketchy part of the city, and in the middle of a torrential rainstorm. We thought about trying to go into a bar, but thought it best not to offend our new country by flooding their establishments with our soaking bodies and bags. So we battled the storm a bit longer and I guess we looked pretty pathetic because we got waved into a bar, where some beers were on the house and they didn´t seem to care about the puddles we left behind.
Eventually we found ourselves a hostel in a much nicer part of town and fell asleep, thoroughly exhausted.
We had no idea as to where to go, so we wandered, and found ourselves lost in a sketchy part of the city, and in the middle of a torrential rainstorm. We thought about trying to go into a bar, but thought it best not to offend our new country by flooding their establishments with our soaking bodies and bags. So we battled the storm a bit longer and I guess we looked pretty pathetic because we got waved into a bar, where some beers were on the house and they didn´t seem to care about the puddles we left behind.
Eventually we found ourselves a hostel in a much nicer part of town and fell asleep, thoroughly exhausted.
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Dear Diary Moments
Our last day in France:
Dear Diary,
Alli and I are having a romantic picnic under the Eiffel Tower. We just walked 10 miles from our train station to here and can´t move our legs. I think we´ll stay awhile.
4 August 14:19
Dear Diary,
The cutest waiter just walked the oldest lady across the busiest street.
4 August 21:43
Dear Diary,
Not-our-waiter just proclaimed his undying love for me and nuzzled me during dinner.
4 August 21:47
Dear Diary,
Somehow we made it across town in 15 minutes via Metro. Vive le France!
4 August 22:36
Dear Diary,
Night trains rock!
4 August 23:14
Dear Diary,
Alli and I are having a romantic picnic under the Eiffel Tower. We just walked 10 miles from our train station to here and can´t move our legs. I think we´ll stay awhile.
4 August 14:19
Dear Diary,
The cutest waiter just walked the oldest lady across the busiest street.
4 August 21:43
Dear Diary,
Not-our-waiter just proclaimed his undying love for me and nuzzled me during dinner.
4 August 21:47
Dear Diary,
Somehow we made it across town in 15 minutes via Metro. Vive le France!
4 August 22:36
Dear Diary,
Night trains rock!
4 August 23:14
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
seattle::toronto::london
What an ordeal. I got to the airport a bit later than I'd been hoping, and had to wait in a ridiculously long line. When I was halfway through it, United realised that the Toronto flight needed to be checked in right away, so I had to switch to another (long) line, but luckily got my ticket and pushed my way through the VIP security line.
There were a shit ton of kids on the plane. Luckily no criers. I spent most of it basket-weaving and napping, and the guy next to me let me read his book for a bit. I read an essay called "Consider the Lobster" which was pretty enlightening about lobster eating... but I still hate the filthy things so the sympathy was short-lived.
Canadian customs was a breeze, then I had to wait another 3 hours for my London flight. (During which I did more basket weaving).
I had quite a bit of room on this plane since it wasn't overbooked by 15 people like the first one, but the old man who sat one seat away was trying to make small talk and bragged about his Spanish speaking skillz and then complained about all the noise pollution on the airplane and about how he couldn't tune it out. I just regret that I couldn't tune him (or his lecherous stare) out myself.
Heathrow wasn't too bad. The customs lady gave me shit about not having my full itinerary available for her scrutiny, but I scrambled past alright. The underground was a bit confusing, but a pretty ride (since it's not entirely underground). It felt kind of surreal this morning to be here on my own, bright eyed and bushy tailed (and greasy with nasty breath, whatever).
I was confused by all the itty bitty street signs when I got off in Central London, and was a bit late to meet Karla. She lives smack in the middle of the city, so we're going to go explore a bit later (now she's running errands and I'm tagging along.) Luckily I got my Eurostar ticket taken care of (meaning, I bought a new one. I still need to refund the other one which never came, but is apparently now in shipment. A whole lot of good it will do me, sitting in Seattle whilst I'm en route to Paris) so now I get to enjoy the city.
Movies and drinks later. Its soooooo good not to be on a plane.
There were a shit ton of kids on the plane. Luckily no criers. I spent most of it basket-weaving and napping, and the guy next to me let me read his book for a bit. I read an essay called "Consider the Lobster" which was pretty enlightening about lobster eating... but I still hate the filthy things so the sympathy was short-lived.
Canadian customs was a breeze, then I had to wait another 3 hours for my London flight. (During which I did more basket weaving).
I had quite a bit of room on this plane since it wasn't overbooked by 15 people like the first one, but the old man who sat one seat away was trying to make small talk and bragged about his Spanish speaking skillz and then complained about all the noise pollution on the airplane and about how he couldn't tune it out. I just regret that I couldn't tune him (or his lecherous stare) out myself.
Heathrow wasn't too bad. The customs lady gave me shit about not having my full itinerary available for her scrutiny, but I scrambled past alright. The underground was a bit confusing, but a pretty ride (since it's not entirely underground). It felt kind of surreal this morning to be here on my own, bright eyed and bushy tailed (and greasy with nasty breath, whatever).
I was confused by all the itty bitty street signs when I got off in Central London, and was a bit late to meet Karla. She lives smack in the middle of the city, so we're going to go explore a bit later (now she's running errands and I'm tagging along.) Luckily I got my Eurostar ticket taken care of (meaning, I bought a new one. I still need to refund the other one which never came, but is apparently now in shipment. A whole lot of good it will do me, sitting in Seattle whilst I'm en route to Paris) so now I get to enjoy the city.
Movies and drinks later. Its soooooo good not to be on a plane.
Friday, July 27, 2007
an exercise in being memorious
i am having trouble reconstructing memories. i want to write something to hold interest, but not to be ficticious or erroneous in my sharing.
the version of a story you relay to others is the one that you end up remembering rather than the reality, whether or not the elements of the story hold true to the actual sequence of events.
an excerpt from Funes, el memorioso by Borges:
you will have to wait for proper story sharing.
the version of a story you relay to others is the one that you end up remembering rather than the reality, whether or not the elements of the story hold true to the actual sequence of events.
an excerpt from Funes, el memorioso by Borges:
Locke, in the seventeenth century, postulated (and rejected) an impossible idiom in which each individual object, each stone, each bird and branch had an individual name; Funes had once projected an analogous idiom, but he had renounced it as being too general, too ambiguous. In effect, Funes not only remembered every leaf on every tree of every wood, but even every one of the times he had perceived or imagined it. He determined to reduce all of his past experience to some seventy thousand recollections, which he would later define numerically. Two considerations dissuaded him: the thought that the task was interminable and the thought that it was useless. He knew that at the hour of his death he would scarcely have finished classifying even all the memories of his childhood.
The two projects I have indicated (an infinite vocabulary for the natural series of numbers, and a usable mental catalogue of all the images of memory) are lacking in sense, but they reveal a certain stammering greatness. They allow us to make out dimly, or to infer, the dizzying world of Funes. He was, let us not forget, almost incapable of general, platonic ideas. It was not only difficult for him to understand that the generic term dog embraced so many unlike specimens of differing sizes and different forms; he was disturbed by the fact that a dog at three-fourteen (seen in profile) should have the same name as the dog at three-fifteen (seen from the front). His own face in the mirror, his own hands, surprised him on every occasion. Swift writes that the emperor of Lilliput could discern the movement of the minute hand; Funes could continuously make out the tranquil advances of corruption, of caries, of fatigue. He noted the progress of death, of moisture. He was the solitary and lucid spectator of a multiform world which was instantaneously and almost intolerably exact. Babylon, London, and New York have overawed the imagination of men with their ferocious splendour; no one, in those populous towers or upon those surging avenues, has felt the heat and pressure of a reality as indefatigable as that which day and night converged upon the unfortunate Ireneo in his humble South American farmhouse. It was very difficult for him to sleep. To sleep is to be abstracted from the world; Funes, on his back in his cot, in the shadows, imagined every crevice and every moulding of the various houses which surrounded him. (I repeat, the least important of his recollections was more minutely precise and more lively than our perception of a physical pleasure or a physical torment.) Toward the east, in a section which was not yet cut into blocks of homes, there were some new unknown houses. Funes imagined them black, compact, made of a single obscurity; he would turn his face in this direction in order to sleep. He would also imagine himself at the bottom of the river, being rocked and annihilated by the current.
Without effort, he had learned English, French, Portuguese, Latin. I suspect, nevertheless, that he was not very capable of thought. To think is to forget a difference, to generalize, to abstract. In the overly replete world of Funes there were nothing but details, almost contiguous details.
The equivocal clarity of dawn penetrated along the earthen patio.
Then it was that I saw the face of the voice which had spoken all through the night. Ireneo was nineteen years old; he had been born in 1868; he seemed as monumental as bronze, more ancient than Egypt, anterior to the prophecies and the pyramids. It occurred to me that each one of my words (each one of my gestures) would live on in his implacable memory; I was benumbed by the fear of multiplying superfluous gestures.
you will have to wait for proper story sharing.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
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