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When we reached the port we began to wander about. We really didn’t know which way to proceed but luckily we crossed paths with a couple who spoke English. They were retired Americans who had been living abroad for the last three years. Instead of joining a country club or pursuing some hobby back home they decided to see the world at a slow pace. They explained that they would live in a different city every three months or there about and they planned on doing that indefinitely. …
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I was up early, grabbed a table and a few chairs and set them up on the sand. I sat and gazed out on the empty bay writing until the others woke. A pot of coffee soon followed and then breakfast. The girls were taking about exploring the city’s bizarre, a female shopping ritual. I on the other hand I was invited to go with the men. Bear hunting was on the agenda. We all loaded onto a friend’s boat and headed along the coast to a location that supposedly had a recent bear sighting. …
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I knew we had reached the Netherlands when the standard blue or green trains turned multi-colored. Two guys had hit us up in the train station soliciting us to take a room on their boat. I preferred being in the heart of the city where access was easier and I could be closer to the coffee shop I decide to write in, but Jenni kind of liked the idea of being on a boat. I was leaving in a few days and felt that getting her acquainted with another group of people was also a priority. …
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One irony in my life is that I had very few women friends. Most relationships with women were always aimed toward romance and when that didn’t work out or when we experienced an obstacle that couldn’t be overcome, we’d move on. Mostly I have had male friends, sharing common experience and growing up like all normal boys. But I’ll have to admit, women make pretty good friends. Once that it is understood that not everything is sexual, we get along wonderfully. They make much better traveling companions, easier to agree with, better conversationalists, not as competitive, better sleeping arrangements; they attract a different type of crowd, and if there were benefits attached all the better. …
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We proceeded down through the middle of Wales, heading south toward the coast. We followed the hedge groves that lined the road as it meandered like a large serpent, forcing the adjacent hill to bow to its will. …
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As I reached the Arctic Circle, I got off the train in what seemed to be a ghost town. I would assume it was at least three in the morning and everything in sight was closed. Although early in the morning the sun was still up creating an odd feeling, like being on a set of a twilight zone episode. You could tell something was off. I was carrying an address of a good place to stay that was given to me somewhere along the road. At that point I really didn’t care how nice it was as long as it had a working shower. …
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We traveled into Cote D’azur, then into San Remo. The weather was just perfect. It couldn’t have been any better with the white sand, blue water and cypresses dancing in the breeze. Another day beckoned us to swim. We stopped off in Ventimilia in search for an open bank. There too we hung around the waterfront and just let the days slip away. We arrived in Genova late one night and ran into a bit of difficulty locating a room. This is par for the course. …
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One thing was for certain, I needed a shower. Sleeping out with element guarantees one thing, we were up early, so we took advantage and started searching for a room. Luckily we found a room in the area that accommodated our needs, but we couldn’t check in until later that afternoon, so we reserved a room. They were kind enough to watch our bags, allow us to scamper off and tour the city. …
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I was told I still had family in Belgrade. My grandmother had given me addresses of relatives so at one point I considered visiting, but the negative idea of just showing up on somebody’s doorstep crept in. I ran it by Jenni. She didn’t have any plans of her own and kind of reluctantly agreed to follow, as long as we were heading north. We spent the rest of the day seeing some of the sights and roaming the streets. The one thing I didn’t want to do was to visit another museum. …
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I finished last night’s joint out on the balcony and then spent about an hour watching the taxis jockey for position and transport the masses from place to place. A unique perspective on canal life. I passed a few dollars into the hands of a boat owner who showed me around the channels. I figured that was a good first step to accustom myself to the island. I traced the labyrinths of narrow streets and waterways and watched gargoyles pass under arches where the king of ghosts and shadows once danced. …
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The clouds had parted and the wings of our plane began to dry. The very first thing I noticed was that “I wasn’t in Kansas anymore”. Gatwick Airport had green pastures on both sides of the runway. Unconcerned cows looked up at our passing plane. This was a total contrast to the cement landscape we left behind in LA. …
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I wandered through the station lingering on familiarities. It’s amazing how routines destroyed time and sped things up. There were so many unexpected avenues, detours, new faces and outright pleasures that it seemed as if it had been months since I left here, not days. I got talking up with a couple on the train that had been reading the same travel guide and discovered out we were going in the same directions. …
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I situated myself behind a cup of coffee in the middle of Oslo’s train station. It was early and I was in clear view of all the entrances and exits, so there would be no chance of Jim missing me. I had already gathered up the necessary supplies to prepare that night’s dinner for Solsberg. After about eight-hours of waiting, I was getting fidgety, actually angry, but assumed Jim probably had a bad connection and was on his way, so I held tight and caught up on my journal. …
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We discovered that the prior day’s information was incorrect. There were no boats leaving today. We got our Sabbath’s mixed up again. We had already packed everything up and trekked the long walk down to the docks. At first I had doubt that anybody was talking straight. I always had to ask a few to get some comfort in confirmation. We managed to gather numerous alike answers and concluded that we were stuck there another day, fuck. …
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We divided up the day between Rembrandt and Van Gough. Sadness is Van Gough’s greatness and without his blood and wed of failures, such masterpieces perhaps would have never been put to canvas. I can relate to the color and texture of his turmoil and find myself too at times walking around in a daze. In contract his colors were bright and unique. …
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