Europe

This is from 2005, written in Barcelona before I left for Thailand

My boss gave me the brilliant idea a few months ago that because my job is done over the internet, I could live anywhere. I could continue to work and go live in some faraway place and kind of restart my life. Not that I had a bad life, it's just that after seven years in San Francisco I was ready for a change. I also wanted to learn Italian and I had a friend living in Florence. So I chose that as a destination. When he flaked on me a month before my departure date, I decided that God had given me lemons so I should make lemonade. No problem, I would find somewhere to live that was cheap and on the ocean instead of an expensive city like Florence. I would drink cappuccino, smoke cigarettes, write and have a deep tan.

As for learning the language I figured there were only a few things I really needed to know how to say:

1. Yes, those are big meatballs

2. Sorry I farted and called you Kate

3. Maybe if I calm down for a minute it'll work

4. I am addicted to inhalants, please help me find a hardware store

Below, I give a day-by-day account of my attempted move to Italy.

Day 1

It was easy after all. Everybody speaks English. I ended up buying a train ticket to Lecce because they didn't have my first choice, a beach town called Peschici, as a destination. So I am going to Lecce first. Looking at the map, Lecce is pretty far south. It's practically in Sicily.

Day 2

The train ride from Paris to Lecce stretched on for so long that I decided to get off in a town called Foggia, which is inland from the jut of land I want to check out first, where Peschici and Vieste are, but features access to it. That's all it features though as I seem to have found one of the only ugly towns in Italy. I got off the train and walked to a bar and had a cappuccino. Then took a cab to Hotel Venezia where I am staying, literally 100 feet away. The cabbie charged me 10 euro. Ow. After an exchange with the hotel clerk that really seemed like it was gonna end with him pulling out a gun and shooting me for not understanding a single word he said -- not one word -- and after many frustrated repeatings of the price and check-in time (3 hrs away) I had a room. I took a shower and then set out trying unsuccessfully to find food thanks to the labyrinth of opening and closing times they have here. A few more unbelievably humiliating exchanges and I was hiding in my room.

Day 3

When the hell do these people eat? In the morning all you get is a brioche or croissant or whatever and then at 1 everyone goes home to bed. At 5 it all closes again until 8. People literally walk around in circles all day. I tried to go to Peschici but the train guy said to take the bus and the bus guy said to take the train. Although who knows what they were really saying. I understood it to mean "go over there" but they could have been giving me football scores for all I know. I did manage to buy a ticket to Bologna though and even this happened after the guy answered my question with a "no"

"Un bigliette a Bologna ahh para domani, per favore?"

"No. Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah".

"No? Really?"

"Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah?"

"Uhhh, si?"

"Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah treintesette."

"Oh I can buy it? Okay. Good. Yeah trainta y sette. Okay."

Not so much good communication today although I can finally understand it when someone says a number to me. I know this because this afternoon when a waiter ripped me off for the .50 change from a 2 euro coin I gave him I knew exactly what was going on. I'm going to Bologna. I need a city I think while I learn Italian. I feel too conspicuous here. I am acting like kind of a pussy right now, too. Today I slept for like 16 hrs but I did learn a couple things: Italians spend money every second of the day and facial hair is non-existent on anyone under 70 years of age. I realized part of the reason people seem to fear me is the beard. Another thing that came to me is that in the States, when you hear a foreign accent you immediately think the person is stupid. The fact is they ARE stupid, because they don't know the language. I have an accent here and I am very very stupid. There's your proof. Maybe a month from now I will be less stupid.

I have no idea how I am gonna pull off getting an apartment when I don't even know the word for "apartment." Apparently it is neither "apartamente" nor "apartamento" as I had been kind of banking on. I need to figure out the food thing, too. Before I starve to death. Today I ate a gelato. That's it. I kept being asleep during business hours.

Day 4.

Reached Bologna today. The first thing that happened was that I stepped in dog shit. My hotel is so far from the city center I think I may actually be back in France. I saw an apartment advertised for $245 a month. So they exist.

Day 5.

Late last night I became convinced that a kid in an internet point in Foggia had gotten my ATM card and gotten all the money in my account and spent it on sleeveless yellow shirts that say "Rich" and pink plaid shorts and hair product. Within minutes I was left with my only option being a plan to go out to the train tracks 10 feet from my window, lay my head on them and wait until a train came and killed me. I'm not exaggerating when I say trains are howling past my window every 6 minutes. It felt like a sign. So 4 days in and I am already on the brink of suicide. Things aren't going so good. I started out the day so happy to be in a city where I was less obviously out of place. I decided I could "dress cool" in Bologna, unlike the small town I had started out in where I looked like a terrorist to everyone. A big win there. I ate dinner in the hotel restaurant. I think the baseball hat and Blue Oyster Cult shirt I was wearing really pissed the waiter off. He totally ignored me. It didn't help that during the painfully stilted ordering melee, anytime he asked me something I nodded my head like an idiot. "Do you want wine?" Nod. "Red or white?" Nod. "Red or white?" Nod. Then, "Oh yeah. Um..blanco?" Fucking Spanish. Agh. To be fair I was so hungry I couldn't see straight. To impress him I ordered the most expensive thing on the menu. There was a point where I was waiting for him to bring me the stupid wine (which he intentionally didn't do 'til after my food came, I know it) and I began to think "I am in a struggle of wills here with this fucking waiter. Things aren't going so good. Things are going very wrong."

There was a French couple next to me, an ancient British couple toasting their zillion-year relationship next to them and some Germans in the middle. The old British dude got drunk and started forcing the French people to listen to his itinerary of the past two days, which was visiting all the Italian and Moroccan or whatever cities he was stationed in during the Second World War. He was in the Eighth Army which was impressive. The French guy politely listened and tried to get out of the conversation a couple times. The Germans quietly ate roasted Jew-meat.

PART II

Day 6.

Today I walked around muttering "Don't look at me, greaseball" under my breath and fantasizing about going back to America and living in Key West where I could listen to Jimmy Buffett all the time and drink myself to death. I have decided that I am glad I'm American. I mean if anything at least I don't dress like I'm colorblind and gay. These people are stupid. If I don't get an apartment tomorrow I am going back to America and living in Florida or New Orleans or something. This decision came to me today after a bus drove past my waving hand. Of course once I made the decision I started having fun interactions with people, one of which was a beautiful girl. I walked around and around in Bologna, like everyone else, but with a pissed off look on my face, muttering.

Things I need to write down:

The move to Italy may have been a disaster but at least I got to see a woman actually kick her child.

They make the sign of the cross even when they just pass a church. I saw a woman do it from inside her car as it made a left turn in front of one.

Today was the first time I didn't think, "Eee..yore ..oh, what the the fuck is eeyooreohh?" It's "euro!" They talk different!

Anytime I have an exchange with someone and I understand what they are saying I grin and make a stupid thumbs-up signal. I must stop this. Not only does it make me look like some kind of fool, who knows what a thumb means here. They have all these hand signals. They're like referees. I could very well be saying, "Yes I would like it up my ass, please" for all I know. I have to stop doing this.

There are a lot of Italians wearing American sports shirts. The Rams are popular and strangely enough, so are the Celtics. Today there was a guy wearing a shirt that said, "CUSB" in the Cubs font. See? Stupid. No, maybe it was some soccer thing, I don't know, or care.

Honestly I don't think I am gonna make it. I am thinking pretty hard about going to some nowhere beachtown in Florida or some shit and hiding out from everyone I know who keeps emailing and asking how my awesome life tanning on the Adriatic has turned out. The Adriatic turned out to be polluted and I don't think my money will hold out if I go down to Amalfi/Salerno and try the west coast.

September 6, 2005

I haven't been able to write for like a week or something. What ended up happening was that I got this apartment in Barcelona from the 9 th of September till the 5 th of October. I will use this time to regroup and make some money. I went to Barcelona on Aug 30 to get out of expensive fucking Italy. I had to borrow $600 from my ex-girlfriend to make up for the lost Miami ticket money. Ten days to kill before I can move into the apartment.

The second night in Barcelona I ended up at a Brazilian bar with two Australian girls from the hostel. Both times I went to the bathroom, Spaniards kept talking to me as if I could understand them so I felt good. They thought I was local. I told this to the girls and they said it was because of my tan. Very deep tan right now. Anyway I was feeling good. Later on I had to go to the bathroom again and was in line with all these women when I realized I had been using the ladies room all night. They weren't talking to me because I was tan. They were talking to me because they thought I was some kind of American fag-perv. This is how it is. I do everything wrong.

The other day I was looking for a library (for the third consecutive day) and found this university area where I could practically smell a room of computers that I could hook up to the network on no problemo. Even though I never understand the directions given me I decided to go in a bookstore and ask where the library was since it was very likely ten feet away. Part of the problem has been that the word "library" in Spanish is "biblioteca" and the word "bookstore" is "libreria" so I ask for a biblioteca and they immediately think I'm looking for a bookstore and say "libreria?" and I'm like, "No, library" and they say "Oh yeah no problem, it's right over there." Then I say "Really? Gracias!" and make the stupid thumbs up signal and go and every single fucking time it turns out to be a goddamn bookstore. Anyway I went into this bookstore figuring they would know I was not looking for a bookstore if I was actually inside one when asking for the library and the girl behind the counter was on the phone. I waited patiently and leaned on the counter feeling like in Barcelona, especially in a university area, an American looking for directions was not so exotic or upsetting as to elicit the open mouthed staring that seemed to follow me everywhere in Italy. In leaning, I put my hand on the counter and had a look around the silent bookstore. My hand came down on a clear plastic display holding pamphlets and books that was triangular shaped, with a lip. The lip came off the counter just enough so that when I rested on it, the weight of my hand turned it into like a catapult and the pamphlets and books went shooting straight up in the air and then all over the floor behind me. I made some kind of "aaagh" noise and cleaned them up and left. At the next bookstore I went in and didn't touch anything. The girl behind the counter said the library was a big white building right around the corner. I asked her to write it down but she was like "It's RIGHT around the corner." So I went and there were two huge white buildings, one of which was the museum of contemporary art and the other one looked like a prison and had no door.

One major success was finding a beach outside the city. I was given directions by an Australian girl who was like, "You just take the Metro to gagthla-pass-ay-eege-d-grashasgagala and catch the train to blah blah blah." And I was like, "ok whatever." But found it anyway. The town did turn out to be pretty much for gay men only, dashing my pathetic daydream on the train that involved one of those traveler-meets-also-traveling-girl-and-they-have-sex-in-a-bathroom stories you're always hearing, but I found it. I was ordering food at this place and these guys were snickering at my inability to speak Spanish to the waiter or understand that the menu really only consisted of either skinny hot dogs or fat hot dogs when, tired of being looked at all the time, I turned to them and growled "What is the fuckin problem?" which I guess scared them because they turned away fast. This was before I realized it was a gay hotspot town (like the biggest in Spain of course) and they were just trying to flirt with me probably. Now I feel guilty.

Day ?

I slept almost all day today, to avoid spending money. The best part of the day was the last hour when, over the stereo system that plays throughout the hostel -- in the common area and in the hallways -- they played an entire Doors collection that had lots of good live stuff and of course finished up with "The End." I could hear it from my bed, echoing through the halls. The natural reverb made the song sound even more ethereal and foreboding than usual.

I move into the apartment where I can start working and making money again in two days.

Two, three weeks later:

I moved into the sublet. Life has become easier and I was able to make some money. Maybe too easy. Last night I bought myself a plane ticket to Bangkok where there is a room in a mansion available for $200 US a month. I was gonna stay in Barcelona, or go down to Cadiz but decided that Europe is the same as the States, just with less fat people and no pool tables. I am going to Southeast Asia. I am going to have a silk suit made for myself and it will fit me perfectly. I will pay a dollar to have sex with teenagers and I will smoke heroin out of a human skull in a foxhole in Vietnam.