The train swayed like the ebb and flow of the sea as it passed underground. She caught her reflection in the car window; a peeking eye lined in mascara behind a wave of bangs. Then she was gone as the sun soaked up the translucent shape of her face and in shone the green and yellow patterned quilt of farmland while her headphones sang to the climax. Although she felt like she was missing something from her life, in this moment, her world was balanced and complete. She felt that the unreal scene could, indeed, take her breath away, but she knew the only thing to do was to keep breathing, if only to keep her eyes open for a few more seconds.
We impatiently sat at the airport gate waiting for our flight. Fortunately for us, we had the pleasure of witnessing the love affair between our neighbor in the seat next to us and her beloved cellphone, as well as the country bumpkin who twiddled himself around from side to side on his cellphone. The only thing missing from this array of awkward twits was my cellphone, which was all by its lonesome on my couch and would stay this way for the next week. The reason I include myself in the count of the awkward twits was because of my horrible fashion sense on this July morning and my lack of general awareness (due to the 4 hours of sleep I received) except for the announcements from the loudspeaker blaring every 20 minutes. After 2 trips to Starbucks, 3 drafts of an itinerary, 2 proposals of possible roommates (and 2 declines), Evan and I were finally on our way to Europe! 'On our way' being the principal phrase of that sentence. Instead of imagining the crisp air of Vienna awakening our senses and bringing new purpose to our lives ... we were sitting in the Douglas airport awaiting our connecting flight to the lovely Newark. It hadn't hit me until the car ride to the airport that we would spend the next 20 hours traveling. Admittedly, I made a mistake in not reviewing the final draft of our itinerary and left all traveling arrangements up to my partner in crime with his keen sense of travel and direction. So, it was only fitting that when we arrived in Vienna after 9 hours of airtime, 3 hours of layover, and two train rides, that cocktails
were in order! Apart from the alcohol that was making a happy home in our stomachs, we were becoming increasingly drunk off the beauty of Vienna from the culture that circulated the streets at night to the top of the Albertina museum which offered a view of the city beyond comparison. It was so unlike the United States that it made the easy going comfort of the South seem like the busy lifestyle of the North. While I can draw more parallels between Vienna and New York, it makes one slow down and appreciate the raw heavenliness that New York lacks... and surely Newark.
The next morning I woke up early to the sound of Evan's blaring alarm on his iphone, not unlike the European style police car sirens, and shortly following, the blaring sound of Evan's voice telling me to jump in the shower.
"Get in the shower", he said in his early hour crankiness
"But last night you said you were going to take a shower first," I squabbled
"Just get in the shower!" he repeated
"...You just want to sleep longer," I hissed quietly to myself
Surprisingly, this was the only spat that made its presence known in the week we spent together in close confines. After we both showered and realized the we were, in fact, waking up to a long but exciting day ahead of us in Vienna, Austria we were back to normal. I wasn't as intent on visiting the countless museums in Vienna as Evan was considering the city was a museum in itself; however, once inside the Kunsthistoriches Museum I was convinced otherwise. I had enjoyed the Hofburg Imperial Palace, which we visited earlier in the morning (we learned of Emperer Franz Joseph and his wife, Empress Elisabeth, of Bavaria who struggled with depression in the strict Hapsburg lifestyle) but after hearing the stories behind the selected paintings in the Kunsthitoriches Museum via my trusty audio guide, I was in love with love. While the egyptian portion of the museum wasn't my favorite exhibit, the paintings held on the twin wings upstairs painted multiple stories that caught my attention. As I circled around the 4 rooms of the West wing I listened
to the story behind the painting "Mars, Venus, and Amor" by Titian. The painting depicted Mars (Roman god of war) in all his armor kissing Venus (the Roman goddess of love, beauty, and fertility) with Cupid fluttering in the background in order to illustrate the overriding theme that love conquers all, even war. My connection with this painting was only suitable being that in a city like Vienna, which breathes beauty, I could fall in love with almost anyone who caught my sight...
That night we washed our faces and slipped inside our beds, which happened to be situated right next to each other in a sort of mock queen size mattress. I offered up qualms about my life next year as Evan relished in his own fantasies and I finally retreated to my engaging novel that had been my constant companion throughout the trip. After a long day Evan was in his own rights to go to sleep yet I insisted on reading, which required my bedside lamp to be turned on. In the next 5 minutes, Evan's assorted gestures annoyingly alerted me to "turn off my damn light"
"Can you just please turn over so I can read!"
"Fat ho."
... almost anyone.
Ironically, I probably could have fallen in love with anyone except the one person I was sleeping next to (but it's not because he isn't ruggedly handsome).
Our last day in Vienna was spent touring the Belvedere where we saw Austrian paintings from the 19th and 20th centuries, as well as the surrounding gardens around the palace. With food in mind after our sightseeing we stopped at a recommended restaurant for lunch but our hunt was hampered when we couldn't read the menu, the waitress didn't speak english, and I couldn't pronounce the menu clearly enough for our German friend to translate via Evan's cellphone. Thus, we went to an expensive cafe branching off of a hotel where a cute english speaking waiter served me my spaghetti.
In the midst of planning our trip only a month before, our friends who were also gallivanting across Europe had urged us to meet up with them in a small town that no one's heard of and which took me the whole of our trip to learn how to pronounce, Rottach-Egern, for an annual beer fest. We were reluctant to leave Vienna the next morning for said beer fest ... (after all, our saki and vodka had sufficed) however, we were eager to meet up with our friends
(although, a bit wary of how this might change our dynamic). The travel to small town did not foreshadow good things. We had to take two trains to arrive at our destination and when we finally got off of the second train we found out that we had gotten off a stop too early. We reasoned the next stop couldn't be too far away and began to walk, with suitcase rolling heavily behind, to the stop at Rottach-Egern. Then it started to rain. Long story short, we took a taxi to our stop, took the fairy across the river to our hotel, met up with our friends, and bought some alcohol (The trend seemed to be to purchase alcohol after any sort of arduous travel day). The town was actually quite cute however there was absolutely nothing to do except to watch the only english speaking channel on tv, "Charm School", and repeat the daily buzz-word, "crater-face ass bitch". It's still debatable as to what exactly a "crater-face" is but it's my new favorite comeback.
While our small town was more than we expected (with the aid of champagne and good pasta), I couldn't help but look forward to our final destination: Munich, Germany. More importantly, Sausalitos (not to be confused with Salsalitas). On a summer trip last summer with my school, a group of us discovered the mind numbing mexican delicacy of Saulsalito's fajitas and tequila beer. I can honestly say this is the best meal I've ever had in my life and if one day I'm obese and single I will take it upon myself to create a chain of Sausalitos across the United States so we can finally attain peace in this country. I love it so much that if I was poor I would consider selling my future babies to the white slave trade in order to get money just to taste the rich deliciousness that is Sausalitos. I even was willing to embarrass myself when I choked and spit out my drink from the gods when I guzzled a mouthful of it... and dribbled a little on my friends' Longchamp bag. It is that good. Lucky for me, this wasn't the last time we would be visiting the best restaurant in the world. I repeatedly told Evan from the beginning of our trip that Vienna was his city and Munich mine. Therefore, if he chose to drag me around to museums I would lawfully oblige and if I wanted to get him piss drunk in a bar with sleazy Germans then so be it! So, in accordance with our deal, we again went to Saulsalitos when we read earlier that happy hour would be taking place between 5 and 8. However, I'm not sure happy is the world I would use to describe our time there... well, Evan might.
At half till 8, we arrived at our destination and found the restaurant we had visited just that afternoon had transformed itself into a bar full of horny beer guzzling pedophiles (obviously this was an exaggeration but as the night deepened I wouldn't be so sure). To be frank, we looked like fucking americans. From my makeup to my low cut black dress in the midst of jeans and t-shirts, I could feel the laser beams leaving the eyes of the men lining the walls and burning holes in the V of my dress. It wouldn't be but 5 minutes since we had sat down at the remaining seats at the bar that a man dressed in a tight black shirt and pants under his dark hat would tug at the knot of my halter holding my attire by two loose ends. Unfortunately for me, his attempt to undress me proved successful and my dress fell in clean swoop. And what's more, not just anybody untied my loosely fitting slut veneer.... no,no. As he walked past again from the other end of the bar I turned around and demanded he buy me a drink. His response was a gurgle of german and lucky enough my german speaking friend situated beside me translated quickly. He explained with a smile he hadn't realized it was going to untie my whole dress. He spoke to me as if I would suddenly comprehend the vast grammar rules and vocabulary associated with learning a new language and told me I should tie my dress tighter and he would bring me a drink later but with little alcohol or else I would tip over! He grabbed my cheek and gave me a peck before he headed towards the other end of the bar. As V and I laughed over the excitement we felt after such an event in the first half hour, we gazed at the menu naturally filled with a vast collection of alcoholic beverages.
(Apart from tequila beer, I've declared a Sex on The Beach as my signature drink. However, the assumption that resides within this title was sorely proven wrong. The assumption being that after drinking two (jumbo) sized sex on the beaches one's physical limits stay in tact, or at least so much as to allow their body to perform sex... on the beach. Needless to say, this was not the case.)
After greedily slurping our first beer proportioned glasses, my new friend made another appearance by our sides with nothing but two shot glasses. Hesitant to gobble up an unknown substance I asked V to translate as to what was in it. She reassuringly told me it had little alcohol (don't ask me why I trusted this man) and we tipped our heads back together letting the ice pink shot slide down my throat. I nodded happily,
"It tastes good! Danke!"
"Kisses taste better," he replied
Feeling sober as ever we ordered two more sex on the beaches for V and I and continued in small talk with the man of the hour. He said his name was Dominik and he asked where we were from, how old we were, what were our names? Grinning politely to the foreign conversation V suddenly smiled at me as she said, "he's a stripper"... "he's been a stripper for 13 years," she added. I turned toward Dominik as he tried to make me understand by bended knee and a hand slapping an invisible ass. I smiled encouragingly as I calculated the number of years between our lifetimes. So that must mean he started stripping when I was in ... kindergarden. No wonder he had no reservations about taking my clothes off. Evan giggled up a storm in his drunken stupor as I gasped quietly at the ridiculousness/blog-worthiness of it all. I soaked up Dominik's translated compliments and the stain of his lips on my cheek as the alcohol soaked up the leftover diluters in my body...
After Evan had gone through a Baccardi raz, a vodka and coke, and a martini we felt it was time to start our evening outside of the bar. While we divided up the bill and tip Dominik made one last appearance by demanding a pen and paper from the bartender. He wrote his name and number and signed it with the word "kiss" in german. And then it was time to go.
We exited the bar with upsetting news from Dominik that the club we wanted to go to was going to be too crowded to get in as measly 18 year olds. We stood outside Saulsalito's groaning in indecisiveness when suddenly it hit me. "It" being the overwhelming dimensions of the glasses that held my sex on the beach and one shot with unknown ingredients. In a cloud of drunkenness we made our way back to the hotel room to form a plan. This plan included taking pictures (never a good thing) and me sitting on a chair wondering what the hell was in that shot???
After gallivanting around the room for around 30 minutes, we finally left with no plan in mind. We got ice-cream (or so they told me the next morning) and sat down in the Hard Rock Cafe. It only took a mere 10 minutes and a trip to the bathroom for me to decide that I needed to go back to the room. One of the worst feelings I've ever experienced is wishing to be sober when you are completely aware of the fact that your wish will take hours to come true. V tucked me in bed and headed back to the bar with others. Two hours later Evan stumbles into the room and falls with all his weight onto the bed next to me. For the past hour and a half I had been shaking under a cold blanket of water and silently repeating a calming mantra that seemed to be helping. Unfortunately, I was only prolonging the inevitable and when Evan interrupted my reclusiveness with his drunken jabber I headed straight for the bathroom and... well, you know.
For the rest of the night, I glided in and out of sleep partly because of the tremendous amount of noise that was hanging over our bedroom window and partly because of the headache hanging over my head. The next morning we awoke to a phone call from V that rang with a full day of events in front us starting with breakfast. We unwillingly sulked to the downstairs lobby for food, recounted last nights events with the group, and explained the reasoning for our lack of sleep. While I interpreted our every hour alarm as a car falling out of a window, Evan chose a more eloquent and historical description to explain the sound outside our window. "It was like the bombing of baghdad!" Needless to say, we did not sleep well.
The rest of our trip was spent recovering, eating, smoking, walking, saying goodbye to our friends (who left a day earlier), and waiting for our flight home. All in all, it was a successful getaway. From Vienna to vomit, we had an amazing time. Despite a few hiccups in our plans (read: scorching heat, an excess amount of alcohol, bits of drama), we could never forget our time there, even if we tried... Europe makes an impression on any tourist, luring them to return and pushing them out at the same time.
With each step she took on the cobblestone streets, through the city painted in cathedrals dressed in flowers and lights resembling stars on museum fronts, she felt the spirit of a country that willed her to be optimistic. With a foreign life on the horizon she had no choice but to soak the history of grief and sadness that lie beneath her feet and return renewed.
