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22 August, 2011:

'Nostalgic for Paris. For it all.

"yes, and it was amazing!"

Not sleeping, wanting to be moving. Lost inside my own head for 14 months. Getting sick of things, growing fond of them. Expiration on the brain. Expiration is relevant while backpacking, if you're stuck it's your own fault, because lives are being broken/molded/molten around you.

What have I learned? We project our ideals onto others. By knowing myself, I know the sad bits in other people. the flow (positive, negative, hurricane, toxic) is more carnal, more visceral, like a taste in my mouth. A bit of saliva rubbing on the tongue the wrong way. That's what everyone is, a nervous hand through the hair, a lapse into self-deprecation (laps, like a dog at a bowl, or laps, a circular racetrack.)'

black and white

“Adventure is a path. Real adventure – self-determined, self-motivated, often risky – forces you to have firsthand encounters with the world. The world the way it is, not the way you imagine it. Your body will collide with the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind – and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you. Nothing will ever again be black-and-white.” – Mark Jenkins

I've been home for almost a month!

A month!

After fourteen months of travel? After all those transitions? How many beds did I sleep in? How many shoulders did I sleep on? How many times did I reiterate my story, and how many times did I lie?

Kindness/cruelty, my traveling bread and butter. My sustenance and my virtue.

Excerpts from Journal,

24 July 2011:

'At the beach

A man settles his limbs on a beach chair. He leans it all the way flat. Half-full diet Coke on the expectant plastic table, sun-glasses still on, sucking with fervor or exhaustion at his cigarette. Lies still for a few beats, smoking skywards. Sand sand sand, in every little crevice! I wore my giant floppy hat, sunglasses (bought in Jerusalem because I lost my Ray Bans) and clicked my iPod into position, fully armed against the outside world.'

'Ah, the London accent. Less glamorous, still quite charming. I bought a wool jumper because it's 17 in London. Red-eyed and sleepy at the airport. I played at the beach in Tel Aviv, laughing throatily when the waves knocked me down, racing the surge, leaping over frothy waves, tossing myself into the swell, daring, daring them to catch me unawares. Everyone watched jealously while I piled my sopping curls on top of my head and tugged my loose-rimmed bikini bottoms against the flirty tug of gravity.

We went to a gay bar, a village, a seedy club, the port, a night picnic, a trendy local bar, Harry Potter in 3-D, the best houmous in Tel Aviv, the jellyfish-riddled sea in the North, her uncle's for dinner, a sushi birthday party, a political rally.'

MOVE

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3 boys, 11 countries around the world in 44 days.

quark

Germans have this Quark, and it's good with jam.

I have these friends, and they're good with jam too.

Since Tel Aviv (Last post)

I did a little Brighton

London

Amsterdam

now Berlin.

How I know I've been traveling too long:

"there's a pillow on the couch if you need it," my sweet mixed nationality couple tell me as they head to bed. I take a look. It's a decent sized couch pillow, the type that makes for an uncomfortable neck in the morning.

I thank them and immeadiately rummage in my bag. I grab a couple of shirts, wrap them in my fast-drying towel, and easily fall asleep amid the smoke fumes, head supported by my makeshift pillow.

- My mind moved directly to clothes-pillow as opposed to even testing the fluffy couch pillow. Or looking for other alternatives.

Burnt musing

Every single meal I've had here has been fabulous. Maybe I'll get into coffee. This americano works for me.



I told mare not to worry, that I'd take care of Ivona in college. She grins wickedly at me, 'don't let anyone else have her, but you can.' I smile as reassuringly as possible. The sun beats down on our drunken leers.



The fake roses in the bathroom have thorns. I wouldn't have it any other way. 



The hot young DILF has a nipple ring. I can see it as his low v neck hangs strategically, he crouches to play with his toddler daughter.



Noga and I stride through the Carmel market, crusty with sea salt, bags of watermelon hefted in both hands like trophies. A man stops in mid sentence with his comrade. 'sha-loooom!' he enthuses. 'hey girls,' his lady friend calls after us, 'have you been to the beach?'



It's always the last sip that gets me. The sugary dregs.



A petal falls onto the table,  between the saucer of soymilk and untouched ashtray. It's pink, and lonely. There's not a pink flower in sight. I chew on a toothpick, read, wave away flies. The next time I look up, it's gone.

ha am

(the people)

Jack told us to kiss on the stairs.
Noga missed the sunrise, but I wasn't paying attention.


Noga's an asshole because she scored 10 points more than me.
Although losing the key lost us another good 40 points.

2 bottles of wine to ourselves, plus one cheap chocolate mousse.

urchin

Wine all day with Masha, my ukranian model.

My last pub crawl;

tons of rowdy boys, one broke a chair at our first stop, Buza.

But we trooped on, did some good crazy dancing.

More shots, more dancing, and more dancing with a cocktail bucket on the side.

My hair falls down.

Skinny dipping under a full moon and a warm sea.

My first time.

Someone steals ice cream while others purchase cigarettes.

We play games and wait for the buses to work.

The brazilian who has been hitting on me all night tries to work his way around a cheek kiss as I drop them off.

Rain starts. Rain on my last night of work.

Werewolves didn't mind the rain.

My last day;

Wake up and take some tea. Big tea addict.

Have to go, same clothes as yesterday, I don't mind.

I throw some things in my bag. I have someone's phone.

Drop it off at the hostel, vespa over the port.

We swim on a nearby island.

We drink mineral water and cheap white wine, Croatian style.

Nice new people.

I'm swimming, I hit my foot on a rock, the rock is actually a sea urchin, I'm dying.

They sedate me with more wine and tweeze some spines out of my toes.

A lot of them are broken off.

I nap while they adventure on the island.

I limp my way to coffee, chat away the time.

Boat ride back and discuss healthy vs. unhealthy relationships with a boy from split.

Vespa ride,

making chicken in a sweet pink apartment with some friends.

a girl cuts my hair on the terrace.

A shower feels so good.

No one wears pants, or some of us do. It's warm and the night is sunday-sleepy.