More to Come

Oh.
My.
God.
Internet!

At this point in the trip, I think that qualifies as an independent thought! But there will be more to come. Oh yes, my friends, much, much more to come!

Til tomorrow (how nice it is to be able to say that!).

N.

Long Night

So, today I am leaving, and having met the group and after only a few short hours (6?) on "The Truck" (Don't call it a bus!) yesterday I am anticipating more adventures/experiences/bizzare-goings on than I shall have time to record.

I will be next be online, Africa willing, on the 18th.

But in the mean time...

My roommates last night the other night was enough to talk anyone out of hosteling, forever. Well that's not quite fair, I had 6 roommates, and only one of them was worthy of that peculiar honour. It started like this...

I was sitting on my bed (top bunk), about 10 o'clock at night, writing in my journal. The door opens --rather, I listened while someone in the hall fiddled with the keys, it's always a process-- and in come this couple, chattering away to each other in German. Now, I was quite surprised because I had actually seen this same pair on the street earlier that day; I wouldn't have remembered him, but I certainly remembered her. She was, for lack of a better word, spectacularly ugly. The thing that stood out about her were her eyes, one of which was as round as a dime (though much, much bigger); this gave her a rather lop-sided appearance, and she seemed to be permenantly squinting. The crowning touch on all this was the fistful of eyeliner she was wearing: large, uneven circles of black and what seemed like bright neon blue.

But SHE was not the problem. Since they seemed to be paying no mind to me I kept on writing, and they began to unpack. After about 20 minutes, however, the man suddenly marches over to my bed and says "So... this is how a young lady spends a Saturday night in Cape Town?" I am surprised to find he has a strong English accent, despite the German. He was less than satisfied with my answer that I had a cold and thought it was better to enjoy the comfortable bed while I had it. Once it seemed that conversation was over I went back to my book, and he said something to his companion --who didn't speak English-- and then all of a sudden, pacing around the room, beer in hand, he tells me his life story. Which was really not as interesting as he seemed to think. He and his "very close friend" were staying in South Africa for three months, but didn't know what they were doing, so long as it wasn't working in a bar in Germany, which is what they had been doing.

I believe I listened to this beer-stained monologue for about 45 minutes, quite often nodding and saying I thought it was fantastic that they were just picking up and trying something different (to some degree I did, however...) and then slowly, deliberately moving my eyes back to my book, only to have him start back up again. He finished off by saying that another reason they had to get out was that it was far too easy to drink when you worked in a bar, and he needed to get away from that. I didn't wish to point out that he was roaringly drunk at the time, and that no sooner had he left the room, and his close friend and I exchanged meaningful, who-needs-words glances, he bursts back in with a "Forgot my beer!" and then resumes the story... the same story... again...

I went and sat outside for a while. It seemed less exhausting. However when I did return to the room they were both asleep, and I crept into bed as quietly as I could. I shouldn't have bothered. The man snored like -- I don't know what? an engine?-- you wouldn't believe, and I spent much of the night tossing and turning because there was no way anyone in that room was resting with that foghorn in the next bed. Not only that, but he was wearing very small, very revealing underwear (oh yes, I know this!) and chose a dramatic pause in his roaring/snoring to fling the blankets aside and scratch his arms and legs (in his sleep!) as if they were covered in mosquito bites. This was not a view I wanted. I mean, I really, really didn't want it!

The next morning everyone in Room 16 (except him, of course) looked a little the worse for wear, and the rather sardonic Aussie who slept nearest the door catches me with "So... sleep well...?" and we both laughed so hard the Portugese girl in the bed beneath me woke up, and gave us a dirty look.

I'm told he was drunk the next night as well, but I have managed to avoid him ever since!

Ta.

N.

Hostel Types

A few of the people who seem to turn up in every hostel, everywhere.

1) The arguing couple. They are always arguing in a language other than your own... but somehow you understand them anyway. The guy has lost something, and the girl is tired, OR, the girl is taking too long with the packing and the guy is tired. Either way they bring an alarming degree of animosity into the room, and interestingly enough seem completely unaware that anyone else is present to hear them fight.

2) The loud mouthed, dreadlock-sporting, killer-backpack-wielding, "social-drinker". These usually travel in 2-4s, and no hostel is complete without them. You can hear them from downstairs, or upstairs, or outside (depending on where the bar is), as well as in your room at 3 AM when they stumble over items and each other as they try to find their way into their bunks in the dark. Somehow this does not dampen their popularity.

3) The first-timer. A person who comes into the hostel on their own, usually not speaking a major language --for the country or the hostel-- and looks completely bewildered by the hosteling landscape. Has trouble with the washrooms, with the bunkbeds, with the combination locks, with the internet... and never seems in interact with anyone they are living with. These never stay long.

4) The group of high school age girls on a weekend jaunt (this one is especially relevant in European hostels). They sit permanently huddled together, wearing very little clothing and giggling at their own jokes. Hold court in the social areas having elaborate multi-lingual conversations with boys/men of all ages; these conversations can go on for hours, because everything that is said by each party must then be discussed in every language. These girls never seem to leave the hostel.

5) The sketchy old guy. Who is he? What is he doing here/there? Generally not a native English speaker, who somehow manages to speak better English than you, as well as French, Dutch, German and a touch of Russian. He has a book and sits in a very obvious place, quite often starting off conversations with the girls once they've had enough to drink.

Another thing to remember about hostels-- READ THE USER REVIEWS! When they say "This hostel has cold showers!" they really do mean "This hostel has cold showers!" I mean, really cold! For future referance...

N.

Sleepless in London... Or just sleepless in General!

The man wearing a (high-lighter yellow) motorcycle helmet gestures for me to go ahead of him in line... he was very soon regretting this, I would imagine, as I struggled vainly to seperate the American coins from the UK and from the several random sets of keys I'm keeping in my change purse... I do this, but it has been more than three years since I've been in England, and my grasp of British currency has never been particulary strong (am I the only one who gets confused by this? there seem to be endless numbers of no longer circulating coins regularily circulating!).

I am back in London. The thing that always astounds me about London is that no matter how long since I've been here, or how long I'm staying, or if I'm in an area I know or not, coming here always feels like coming home. This is perhaps even more striking considering that some of my worst naviagational crisis ever have taken place here (I don't think I was on Blogger 4 years ago when I arrived off a bus from Scotland at 6 AM and spent nearly 5 hours wandering around with all my luggage because --not only was I too stubborn to call a cab, but-- I genuinely believed that I was on the right track... tracks...

It's been a year since my last "hardcore" trip, and stepping off the plane today --once again at 6 AM-- completely lacking in sleep and disoriented (due to lack of sleep?) and praying I make it onto the tube before rush hour and that the bottle of Coke Light I accidently left in the side pocket of my backpack has not exploded (it hadn't!), I am fascinated how natural it all feels.

Natural, I should point out, does not mean it feels smooth or easy. Before I'd even left the airport I managed to break one of the keys to the lock on my backpack --get this-- in the lock, which is on my backpack! So... how exactly am I going to deal with that one, do you figure? Then there is also the fact that I managed to take the wrong exit to the subway station not once but 3 times (there was no sign! this one was not my fault!), and once I did find it, and hunt down my hostel I learn that the check in time is not until 2, which is... a rather disheartening number of hours away, considering that I HAVEN'T SLEPT...

So where am I now? God alone knows. I mean... I hope he does, I don't really know. All I know is I set out in a direction and the buildings have gotten taller and from time to time I pass a subway station. To tell the truth it doesn't matter to me right now. It's all about being out, being "about". Perhaps it will matter to me when I try to get back? But one thing at a time.

I am afraid this is coming out like a complaint, and it really isn't. In fact, that's actually my point-- I'm in a remarkably good mood. There is something about the strain and the chaos and ridiculous only-me mishaps that agrees with me. It's like it's become automatic, so something in me senses it, from the first curious wandering step I take outside my own backyard... is this a guardian angel's "Uh oh-- there she goes, better keep an ironic eye on her!" Maybe. Though I tend to picture it somewhere amidst the cogs and whistles of my being: here-- breathe, here-- think, here-- get lost, get back... Perhaps that makes no sense?

After all, I am very tired!

Ta.

N.