Clubwash

"Go to Washingtonova 19 and wait in front of Hotel Esplanade.  A man named Dušan will pick you up in a silver Mercedes license plate number 3M3 9397."

No matter what voice I gave Karel while reading over his email in my head it was hard not to laugh at the fact that I may be setting myself up for a really sketchy situation.  My days in Prague were numbering themselves as they passed and I was getting ready to pack my bags and leave the little haven I had been living in.  Christine continued to rock my world with hers.  After nights filled of accordion crimes and gazing longingly at rooms filled with the nations elders that were showing the young ones how it has been done on the dance floor for oh so many years it was time to get my own groove on.  

I arrived at the hotel early because that is just how I do but Dušan out did me.  He was standing by the rear of his parked car as though it were on display.  I realized when I got closer that he was a Czech version of Edward Norton with sandles and white socks on to match (which I have come to find is  a huge fashion statement in these parts).  Considering that I have had previous  conversations about wanting a great big Great Dane that I will someday name Dušan, my ride for the day was just adding to my own privatized humor and at some point I may burst with laughter about the status of my life:  

I am in the Czech Republic.  I am currently struggling with a Czech keyboard and the letters are all mixed up but in continuation of this story I am riding to Brno in a silver Mercedes.  

Dušan and I shared two brief verbal communications.  One: "Dušan" smile.  "Emily" smile. Handshake.  Two: "Coke?" smile plus an eyebrow raise to confirm question mark.  "Mhmm" smile plus a head nod to confirm yes.  Dušan hopped out of the car to get us a drink for the ride and I smacked my forehead for not using one of the four or so words in Czech I have learned. Ano ano ano ano ano.  Why couldn't I just say yes in his own damn language?  Emily stumbles over words as though they were invisible yet standing right in her way.  Crash.  She picks herself up, dusts herself off, and continues on more astutely.  

We roared (which is a lie because this Mercedes was successful at going very fast very silently) past all that were in our path and before I knew it I was sitting at a coffee table drinking coffee and immediately getting the shakes.  I forgot to eat breakfast.  I was about to laugh at the fact that here Dušan and I were, three hours into our introduction, and we still hadn't uttered any words to each other, but then he did.  "Karel" and he flicked his nose up towards a man stepping into the coffee shop.  Karel and Dušan did some business talk while I tried to shrug off the jitters and Dušan waved goodbye.  Karel and I discussed the parameters of the job listing I had fumbled upon and after many laughs and nods and smiles etc. we decided that I would go to his farm the following monday to stay for a trial week.

* * * * *

"There is a statue in front of McDonald's in the center with a little guy sitting on a big guy's shoulders.  We could meet at three or three thirty.  Yeah?  I'll bring a red rose or something.  Actually, I will be the only moustached man in a trucker hat that says `elk-o-holic.  Gunnison, CO'."  

How can the above paragraph not make you want to fall in love with whomever wrote it?  I have no idea either.  Thad picked me up with a guitar on his back and a band of gypsy kids trailing behind him.  I was twitterpated?  See the cool thing about Thad is, that everyone who has ever talked about him has said that he is cool.  So, basically, I wasn't really worried that he was going to be a complete bonehead.  It turns out that not only is he cool he is also a complete donk and I like him all the more because of it.  

We walked to Clubwash, the most hysterical, incredible, genius, nutso place in Brno, which is where Thad and his bosses/friends/owners of Clubwash all live.  Pieter who is Dutch is something to me that I can not quite describe and Patrick, a Swiss guy, is the determined, responsible one of the group.  He handles the money and has the girlfriend.  Meaning he is not around as much and when he is, he is pacing from one room to the other or sitting at the computer.  I like him.  

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"  both Jess and I shouted at each other as Thad and I got into the back room.

"What the fuck?"

Yep.  It is true.  For those of you who have been reading this crap from the beginning all of a sudden in the middle of the Czech Republic I am staying in the same place as Jess and Alys....the same girls I met at Greg's in Cork, Ireland.  So ridiculous.  While Thad went and hid in his room (maybe because the sudden flow of estrogen, maybe because he thought he was in the twilight zone like I did) the three of us caught each other up on our travels.  It turns out we went opposite directions and ended up somewhere in the middle.  I don't have much more to say about that because it was just too damn crazy.  We once again said our goodbyes, they were on their way to meet family in Prague, but this time were sure we would meet again hence not so sentimental in our fare wells.  

Ah.  Clubwash.  I had such a good time for the days that I was there and am now a member of the club and will most likely (as in three days from now) be back.  In a nutshell: Thad snores, I steal blankets and take up more than half of the bed, Pieter somehow always wants something done or built but never seems to be there when it is happening, Piotr and I are good at mudding walls together and pretending like we don't like each other as much as we do, Thad smokes a lot but says he smokes less, Gee rolls joints and asks questions, the answer to "What should we do today?" may in fact be watch an internet poker tournament for eight hours. Drinking beer, smelling laundry, watching Spain beat Germany,grilling in the garden, and listening to Thad play nice songs can all happen at Clubwash along with so much more.....

Phew.  Thanks for hanging in there.  This is beginning to be unbearably long.  I am now in Habři, a village of 38 people some 40 odd km. outside of Brno living and working on a farm.  My main job is to hang out with three gorgeous girls and help them with their English.  I have an incredible loft space above the workshop/studio (which basically means that below me lies a pottery wheel, kiln, sewing machines, art stuff, etc.) that is connected to a square shaped, remodeled, Czech farmhouse with a courtyard in the middle.  All the land in every direction is owned by the family I am living with and today we spent all day swimming in the pool/lake.  Not so bad for a summer job.  I will keep you posted on the progress of my portfolio (now that I finally have time and a space to build one), my Czech, and of course, their English.  

If you will excuse me, I am now going to go milk some sheep, make some butter, and have an evening ride on one of the horses.

On The Side

Lithuanian Wedding

Boys carry girls over bridges

and bind their love with a lock

Girls go back some time later

and bust it with all that they've got

Some aunt with a flashy hat says

the lock just wasn't good enough

The bridesmaids blame it on the groom

The old men say marriage is just rough

Boys chase after girls whose names 

 are more interesting then their own

As long as its wild and it has

some sort of flower growing at the end

they are a long time gone

The lock can be the most unique

He could have carried her far enough

Love isn't rough

the reality that it doesn't stick around is.

So what is a girl to do?

Her name doesn't even rhyme with plain

and the love that she creates

is the love that he breaks

blame it on the lock.

Nude Awakenings

Prague. It is not so much the city but the affect it seems to have on my insides. The moments pass like moments passing not like I am trying to pass by the moments. It lends itself towards wanting to be wandered. The nights seem warmer and the air thicker. The days seem brighter and water shows up in all the right places. Tonight I went to draw a nude and ended up being drawn nude. It was a form of bodily discipline that I have always been curious about but have never exercised. There is something about staring into something and being totally aware of every muscle in your body while realizing that so is everyone else in the room. All was well until my eyes began to swell as The Mountain Goats sang of Peacocks. I focused on soaking in the music as opposed to soaking my cheeks and everything turned out ok. The music, it never failed us. I have to believe that it kept everyone in the room intimately alive and present. It served as the breath I was so hesitant to take. Apparently, I was surprisingly still.

Tomorrow I move on to Brno. I have an interview with a young family looking for an English speaking someone to live on their organic farm and play with their three girls for the summer. I may just linger in this sweet stillness of moments passing for a little longer.

Damn accoridon players

The romance that I once found in watching the accordion player play me his songs has varied in intensity since my trip has began. The first time I saw an old man play on the streets of Dublin I attempted to amount it into some sort of sign and carried that message with me. Then, a few days later I watched an accordion army play down the streets of Liverpool and began to realize that the squeeze box was not such a sight to be seen. I began to feel as I began to feel in Fort Collins. "Oh, you play accordion?! So does everyone else in this town..." Of course, in the back of my mind there was only one accordion player that mattered to me and he was wonderful with or without it. As the accordions pushed whimsically throughout the streets of the majority of the towns I wandered through only once in a while was I moved to take a breath and admire from the other side of the road. At one point I ignored that an accordions song had ever impacted me at all because the sheer thought of them made me want to rip out my insides. I also cried at the sight of an accordion in an old Russian antique shop. I could see its insides and it could see mine. I wanted to hold it and have it just as much as I imagined it wanted to be had. I imagined carrying it around the world not to be played but to be delivered and then I realized that crimes of accordions have been said and written before and there is no need for me to be unnecessarily romantic in such a previously fabricated sort of way.

Last night, in a small bar, in the outskirts of Prague, the accordion and its song struck again. We were on a mission. Christine, a Chicago bred, Czech fed, bad ass woman of the world, and her Canadian posse were on the search for an old man and the accordion he was trying to sell. They had met him at a market with his accordions baring all on the hood of his car and were now prepared to through down some cash and walk away with the prize. A medium sized, pre World War II, German made, button accordion. I was fortunately staying with the right girl at the right time because I got to tag along. We followed what Noah called "old man directions" to the bar and were astonished to find that it was filled with the grandfathers of Prague, some of their wives, and about half a dozen accordions plus a clarinet. We just so happened to be invited to participate in a weekly ritual that has been happening for over 40 years. Friends coming together, drinking, and playing music. Two woman were the heart of the beat playing and pouring music out with all that they had. It was a romantics' heart dream come true. We sat and they played and played and sang and played. Every once in a song one of the old men would gather the courage to ask the young girl to dance. I was swept into the other room by one of the most attractive men at that age I have ever seen, and as the night went on and the stories translated themselves into our mental keepsake boxes we realized how incredible this really was. A formal goodbye was given and the gist of it was......this is Czech, the is our tradition, many are gone, but new ones keep coming.

And the accordion? He left it at home.....but, he gave us directions to tomorrows festivities. We will go to dance another night away and maybe come home with a little piece of their tradition.

Chapters: In no particular order

Chapter One: Boys carry girls over bridges

"Tell me about the locks"
We heard it from behind and turned to find Anya, a not so short not so slim woman of Germany. Our English rang in her ears from across the bridge and she was not going to miss her chance to take part in local conversations. You see, Anya only just realized that she was unable to schedule in "meet real people" between her lonely planet self guided tours and snapshots of the more sanitary views of Vilnius. I removed my grasp on the lock I had chosen to prefer amoung the hundreds that were clasped along ever bare spindel of metal the bridge had.
"It is tradition" Justina replied and tradition took over our imaginations...

Tradition led us through the church doors, past the pews filled with white and the occasional flashy hat worn by "that crazy aunt so and so". Tradition led us straight into the back of the grooms head as tradition ate away at him and tested his abilities to say whatever vows needed to be said before tradition made him carry his girl across the bridge. It was as though we could see them two by two, year after year, teetering of the bridge with smiles and laughter. The family cheered them on as though they were winning a race. "She made it" a cousin would say. They made it. My imagination couldn't reach as far to see a skinny groom carry his plump bride across successfully but reality doesn't fit so I will choose to ignore it. Two by two the bound their love with a lock on the bridge. After exploring the varying aesthetics I realize that the lock is all show and only stands to prove the superiority of ones love compared to others. This lock is bigger, this one is fancier, this one is older.......they all think it. "How can we show that our love is greater by our lock?"

Justina and Anya laugh. I think they reached the part where they live happily ever after right when I thought of the part where two years later someone is looking to bust a lock open. He must not have made it all the way across the bridge I think to myself.

Chapter Two: Two Lithuanians.

Justina and I were walking up freshly watered pavement after a days rain in search of our own cleansing. Wine. Chocolate. Cheese. Maybe some gravel for the cats? As we approached one of the world's many internation versions of Walmart I suddenly realized that up ahead were the two Lithuanian guys I had met in Riga. I laughed out loud in shock and loud enough that they turned. "What the fuck?" we all laughed and howled in unison. It wasn't so much that we particularly felt bonded in some extraordinary way. It was more that of all the moments and all the places, they chose to walk out as I chose to walk in, and that is some what out of the ordinary. Apparently they had only just made it home after 3 hours of standing and waiting for a ride. I kept it to myself that it only took my a little over 3 hours to get from Riga to Vilnius and only about 5 minutes of that consisted of standing. I guess "the international hitch hiking color", yellow, which I had never heard of, wasn't such help after all.

Do we want tea, coffee? Justina and I didn't need much time to glance at each other and say no. An evening that had previously had no expectations at all just became a unanimous girls night. We didn't want to extend the few good moments we had with the boys in uncomfortable, forced ones. We wished them well and saught out provisions for the night. Red, white, dark, sharp, and gravel for the cats.

Chapter Three: Poland?

No, Prague. I don't feel the need to explain myself, I just had no desire to spend a considerable amount of time there. I rode the bus from Vilnius to Prague, straight through Poland, with no feelings of remorse. Sure, Poland is a worthy country and should be explored but the winds were high in my mind and I blew right over it. After 16 hours of the drive through version of Poland I am wishing I would have done it with my thumb out in the air as opposed to with my ass stuck in a chair. Oh well. I made it and it is wonderfull. Last night I met Eric, the Canadian, near Albert, the grocery store. I bathed, we drank beer (oh yeah, the beer here....so good, so cheap), and he sang me some songs that I with all of the Plummer School House gang could hear. His song of suasages was the perfect opening act for Train Grease In My Vagina. For those of you that no what I am talking about, there is no explanation needed. As for the rest of you.....I am not going to give an explanation. Eric kicked me out this morning and I am now staying with yet another incredible woman.........

I can't wait to tell you about her. I am going to get to know her now so that I can do just that.

The Baltic States

I am now in Lithuania and Latvia is becoming a blur so I better blurt some stuff out before I travel too far into time to get back to where I came from. Kristine, ah, where do I start. I have been going with the motions of my gut. Let me start there. When my gut makes a motion, I listen to it. More often then not it lurches in a passionate whirl and I twirl on behind it. So far, I have ended up in the right places at the right times because of it. I decided to stay with Kristine for a night for no real reason. I had another couchsurfer that was closer to the center of Riga and more of a match to the type of people and personalities that I have been trying to stay with but for some reason I thought it would be nice to break it up between a few people and start at her place for a night or two. The last time I wrote I was sitting in her sky high, run down, cat piss smelling, apartment building. It was one of a fifty or so in an area outside of the city. Unfortunately, the only true descriptive words that ring appropriately in my mind are "Russian Latvian white trash with a little alternative buzzing on top" . She was more then kind but in an aggressive and comparative sort of way. I would talk about my travels and she would some how measure them against hers. The conversations didn't go far because one, I didn't care to compare at all, and two, she finally realized that she couldn't really measure up. I walk away knowing that she will now try traveling on her own, which excites me to be sending woman out into the world with a new sense of strength and will. WE CAN TRAVEL ALONE AND WE CAN DO IT IN WHATEVER FORM WE WISH WITH OUR THUMBS OR OTHERWISE AND YES THERE ARE STORIES AND YES THERE ARE DANGERS BUT WE CAN JUST AS ANY MAN. That soapbox serenade has been waiting to be sung.

As the conversations progressed we did find common grounds. We both feel the same about smoking cigarettes: you are not a smoker until you think to yourself you need a cigarette or until you buy your own. We will never buy our own and we will never need to have one therefore we are not smokers no matter how many we may or may not smoke. There you have it, common grounds. The sleeping arrangement wasn't a problem, I was perfectly fine with sleeping on the floor, I have a sleeping bag and it was fine. The party was a little weird. Being the weekend, her boyfriend, Sergei, who also lived in the apartment, Kristine, and later her roommate, had friends over to drink the regions beverage of choice....vodka. Kristine and I drank a few of these sweet port/coke concoctions and I decided to go to bed because I have no interest in getting drunk and feeling like a can't cope with the situations I put myself in. I was awoken several times by some weird guy who couldn't blurt out anything sensible in neither Russian or English but his message was fairly easy to grasp. I ignored him. I was so ready for morning to come and as it came they continued to decline in mental capacities. They finally went to bed as the sun came up. Unfortunately for me, it didn't stay up long and it started to pour. So, I felt mildly trapped in a room with surround sound of the bumping and howling from the room separated by paper thin walls. As the climax became deafeningly nearer I couldn't stand it any longer and booked it. "I am going out, I don't know if I am coming back...I may stay in the city!" Kristine unpasted her still drunkenly glued eyelid and wished me well.

So why that I thought? Everything happens for a reason, and generally things have been happening to me to impact me in good ways. What could I possibly get out of this situation? Well, amidst our conversations, a small paragraph was devoted to a certain boat hopping opportunity......and that I will reveal to you as time reveals it to me.

As for the rest of my time in Latvia, I met up with Reinis a 19 year-old kid who completely rocked my little Riga world! He was into good music, he had nice friends, and a nice girlfriend. He lived with his mom who was awesome. He was friendly and wanted to spend time with me and was proud to show me around and let me into his life for a few days. He first took me to Andre's Port which is basically a series of abandoned building near the bank of the river that runs through Riga where all of the alternative youth of the city hang out, drink, listen to music, and go wild. Over the hours we collected a unique but worthy crew and toured the streets, stopped to make food, etc. Back at Reinis' house, I shared a king size bed with him and Skakri, my new found friend. I am to Skakri as Maude is to Harold. If that makes any sense at all. We spent the entire night taking turns holding in bursts of laughter at how funny the whole thing seemed to be and excusing each others belly rumbles. It was an international sleepover. The three of us and two Lithuanian travelers we picked up, who also slept at the house only in another room, went to the sea and joined up with another handful of people. We spent the day at the beach, in the forest, and admiring one Latvian girl getting over her head in the bottle of bourbon. So the Lithuanians took her home never again to be seen and Reinis, Skakri, and I formed a new troop which continued late into the night at this guy Andre's house. We sang and danced and then walked back home late in the evening.

Two silent Latvians, one Polish truck driver, and a girl named Kata later.......Lithuania. I have been here for a few days now and am enjoying my time with Justina/Bacila. Tonight, she will take me to the theatre.

Coffee in the morning.

Filtering. For whose sake? Your mothers' of course. I know that it is a normal feeling that we all go through; this feeling of needing to protect our parents and loved ones from the less illuminated faces of our own realities but I don't often let it wear me down. Not only is my mother an adult but she is the adult that has actively participated in who I am today. I think it also appropriate to say that the term mother extends to grandmothers and brothers and those people in our lives that bring it upon themselves to worry about us. But, back to my mother. I very seldom feel that there are things that she shouldn't know about the activities that I partake in. I find that many, and my friend Patrick is the perfect example in my mind right now, really believe that their parents would love them less if they knew more. I mean it is one thing if you are a addicted to drugs and you are not ready to reveal how truly swallowed you have become in the lifestyle you have shaped for yourself, but it is another if you hop trains and that is how your heart pumps and your mind goes wild. Yes, it is dangerous, and yes there are risks, but at the end of the day. She will love you.

I have decided that filtering my journey is unnecessary. Of course there are the intimate details and emotions that I could never even try to put into words but I am talking about the doings and the seeings.

What am I getting at? My mom and I spoke for the first time in a few weeks and she asked if I have been hitch hiking. I am not going to lie for her sake and now that it is out on the table I can write more about my days......

Tartu has been good to me and so has Margit. We met in the center near a fountain of two kissing students under and umbrella. I would have taken a proper picture but for some reason the image affected me in a way that I wanted to keep it for myself. We walked towards home up the hills away from the center and through green wooden doors that led into her apartment. It was once occupied by her grandparents who have since passed away and while it's old age is apparent she has been living there for a few years and slowly but surely giving it life once again. Sure, the new mentalities of a modern kitchen have not yet been applied but the bones of the apartment are strong and sturdy. The ceilings are high with lots of room for imagination, the floors are spacious with a collection of furniture eliminating the possibility of any wallflowers. The old tiled wood burning furnace towers over you in the corner and despite the fact that it is shedding it's ceramics right in front of your eyes it still manages to provide warmth in the winter. A collection of old granny cups and saucers and a wide array of crafty temptations are always within reach. Margit, a woman of humble grace and standing beauty looked as though she were made to add warmth to the dwelling just as the wood stove was. She is to the home as I am to the wind but in our own private moments we shared secrets of our world and whispered of the longings for the others familiarity in their own ways.

Two women side by side, hips swaying unabashedly, one retracing the black lines on a map known her entire life and the other happy to be adding fresh trails to her journey. We spent most of our times walking and telling tales, on one occasion we went to all of Margit's favorite bars, and we even got some quality movie watching time in. FYI Single White Female.....worst movie for a girl looking for a roommate to watch.

I left Tartu and Margit early today with a big hug and a quite internal yelp Am I really in Estonia right now? I often times find myself laughing out loud. I am traveling the world and sometimes that fact is too grand not to tickle my insides.

My first ride today was a short one but well worth it. Old Aldo dropped me off and two minutes later two Latvian guys who had been working in Tartu were headed right to Riga. Simon and Simon treated me as an invisible object only in sight by the rear view mirror once we found that there was not common language spoken between the collective 8 languages we knew. That was until Simon asked me where I was from and I replied. Simon looked to Simon and the only words that I could pick out were George Bush. That conversation didn't last long which didn't bother me one bit.....I have heard it many times before. I was conveniently dropped off at an intersection directly across from the apartment in Riga that I am now staying at. Kristine, my new found friend in Latvia, and I are hitting it off so far and I am excited to see what the night brings.

And the Estonian Army was on her side.

I am not in the middle of no where. I am in the middle of Estonia. The past few days have been crazy good. I have decided that it is nice going to countries that no one really knows much about because there are no expectations in what you have to see etc. My first afternoon in Tallinn was great. I wandered the streets of the city center with three young Finnish guys (who were on there way to Germany to buy a car because it is so much cheaper) and had a great little picnic in this park. After they took off to catch their flight I met up with Angelo, a guy that I met over couchsurfing, for a drink. For those of you who are somewhat literate in the running of couchsurfing it is somewhat common that the person that you are hoping to stay with isn't available to host you but wouldn't mind meeting up for coffee or whatever. I have debated over and over "what is the point"? but now I have the answer. The point is you meet the most bad ass Italian that just so happens to be incredibly plugged into the music scene in Italy and is in charge of putting on week long festivals etc. That is why you agree to meet up for a drink.

Martin turned out to be a dream boat with icing on top. I have found that the "connecting" part of the whole couchsurfing deal can sometime be the hardest part, especially when you are like me and don't have a mobile like every other human being on the planet. What do they look like? Where is the easiest place to meet? What happens if plans slightly go awry? Well, with Martin it was as though we were destined to meet. For some reason, within the hotel, I feel like even if I didn't have a noticeable bag with me we would have spotted each other with the same broad smiles that we did when we saw each other. It was automatic chemistry as we glided down the street towards Martin's flat attempting to walk as fast as he was talking. Crazy bastard. The nerves he had. He talked as though his very breath could be stolen from him at any moment and although an avid smoker I dare say he barely had a successful inhalation without chasing the smoke away with some new found idea to blurt out. It was love at first sight. It is also official: I consistently meet the pregnant women and the gays of the world. If only I could bring them all together under one roof.....camaraderie for future mothers and lovers for all the lovely boys I have come across.

I couldn't speak more highly of Martin, in fact, I wish it was possible to make a mini-martin-travel-companion. You know, the kind that I can stick in my pocket and take out in those most desperate times? Martin's flat was previously shared with Francesco, yet another Italian, and although I didn't have the pleasure of meeting him, I did have the pleasure of reading the kitchen walls and all that the ladies who "met" him had to say about there experiences. I am under the impression that he was a full fledged Exhibit A Italian. I can't really describe the feeling that I had while in that flat but it seemed familiar. It had a very old world, dingy feel, with writings on the walls, and although basically empty it echoed of parties and wild nights. The light affected the air in a static sort of way. Always somewhat lit but basically shadowed no matter what time of day. As you walked barefoot through the halls and rooms the cities sounds came in through the open windows and I felt as though I should have been in a white t-shirt and underwear with some sort of beverage in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I will miss it there and who knows, maybe I will be back someday when the assistant needs an assistant.

Last night Martin took me on a date to the movies. Basically, we saw the worst movie ever and the best possible choice for both of our brains and hearts......Prom Night? So terrible, but so perfect? We met Alo or "the lady of the house. He was straight out of the bird cage minus the clogs but with an umbrella in hand. Love love love love.

Martin and I said our goodbyes and I hit the road this afternoon. It didn't take me but five minutes before I got picked up and I am pleased to say that if I ever find myself in any sort of trouble I can call Captain Viktor Lillepruun of the Estonian Army to bail me out. Not only did he buy me lunch at this really great little roadside attraction but I watched them catch the fish that I ate! So crazy. After two or so hours of driving I am now in Tartu waiting to meet up with one of Martin's friends from way back when. She will put me up for a night or so and then....Latvia?

Finnish friends conversing naked in a sauna

So, I know it has been a long time but sometimes things are better left unwritten. I have just left Finland and am being blown away, literally, in Estonia. More on that later...

The day I reached Helsinki I met up with this guy Jukka whom I had arranged to stay with through couchsurfing. To turn a very long story of events into a short one.....he was not the best representation of the Finnish population so I was happy to sneak out of his small studio apartment early in the morning while he was still sleeping and move onto my next host.

Elina was one of the most incredible women I have met so far and on that note one of the first women that I have had the pleasure of spending time with. I hadn't realized until I sat down with her in her cozy apartment drinking tea at the table going through the introductions how good it felt to just sit with another woman and talk about the world. There is something that happens that just doesn't exist when you are constantly in situations with men. There is a new dimension of freedom and release. For that, I extend a huge thank to Elina. You have given me a sense of warmth that I will take with me for the rest of my journey.

Most of my time was spent walking the streets of Helsinki admiring the architecture (while sometimes listening to Architecture in Helsinki) and enjoying the sun with the rest of those who resided within the city near the sea. I walked daily through the market picking the best looking apple and banana I could find to help me through the day. I spent hours listening to the local talent that came to the Espa to play, gawked at ladies flashing their bums in the Samba Parade, and partook in cheering on the most Finnish Football Tournament around.....not really. A gang of Elina's friends annually get together and play a game of football. Whichever team makes it to ten wins. Whenever you make a goal, you drink a beer. We came to speculate right around the time when the score was 9 to 9. So, you can imagine what a state the players were in. Pure entertainment.

I am proud to say that after the football tournament I stripped all of my fears away and got naked with all of my newly found Finnish friends to join them in the sauna, one of Finland's well known traditions. I am not so proud to say that it is very hard for me to converse with people when most of them previously saw me with no clothes on. Aw well, I never thought that modesty was in my nature but deep down it must be.

With all of the barbeque's, events, boating, etc. I have not had the chance to write.....today I am enjoying the company of three Fins in Estonia and tonight I will be meeting up with Angelo, another Italian (I dont know why they keep showing up in my life, I haven't even made it to Italy yet!), for a drink and Martin, my Estonian host.....who knows what will happen?

All is well in the world.

Fist in the air from all the way in Finland

Helsinki is good but it is better knowing that Obama just accepted the democratic nomination.

Waking Italian Blood

So there is that person that you see from a distance. You know the one. Everything they do, even though you may not be able to hear what they are saying, makes you think to yourself, "Oh dear God, I am so glad Iam not that person". They move and interact with people in an awkward way, they are more likely than not wearing some article of clothing that you nor anyone else you know would be caught dead in, and at times like these, waiting in line times, getting onto a 15 hour long ferry ride times, somwhere deep down in the smallest rift of your brain with only the teeniest bit of an echo you say "I really hope I am not sharing a cabin with that person".

Tisk tisk, my friend. You are done for. I don't care what kind of kharma you have, you said those unspeakable, unforgivable words and life is going to make a lesson out of it. Eva was her name and she was the last person I wanted to converse with in a small room, under water, in the middle of a body of water just big enough that I didn't want to swim to either side. I think upper-middle-aged is an appropriate title for Eva. Did I mention she was Canadian? Which made it so much worse because up until then I had really liked the idea of liking all Canadians. The point is it was a big flipping boat that I was on from Stockholm to Helsinki and everywhere I turned she was there with her little big camera wanting me to take her picture while she tossed her head back and flipped her heal to the sky. She also told me all about her provisions and her packing strategies and her.......you get the picture. Not only did I get the life lesson that should only be learned once (never speak too loudly or clearly about what you dont want no matter how small the rift in your brain is) I got it twice when the next woman walked in. She was a big, burly, Finnish woman who had the most rank odor and indescribable gypsy hippsy smock on.

Luckily for me, the big boat also coordinated multiple run ins with my new Italian friends, Andrea (the boy kind) and Federico. (p.s. if you say there names in an Italian accent they become as cute as they were in real life). The three of us turned a nightmare party boat (which consisted of really old people getting drunk to cheesy country rock swingish music and really young people pretending to be old) into a damn good time. We ate, we drank, we danced, we laughed, we talked in Spanish and English and Italian with a little bit of Swedish on top, and I am pleased to say I now have friends in Italy. According to Andrea, there are two types of Italians. Exhibit A: The cream of the crop. He is cute and he knows it and he puts a little smile with white teeth in between words with little woopdydoo sounds. He gives the girls the looks no matter how legal they may or may not be (as long as their parents are not within sight) and he says nice things about nice things that makes them out to be incredible.
Exhibit B: He makes friends with Exhibit A and spends most of his time painting graffiti onto unmarked territories. His smile is equally as inviting but hidden behind thick locks of Italian hair and at the end of the day he would prefer to pretend he is twice as shy as he really is so that he can laugh, dance, drink, and have a good time without feeling like he has to get the girl at the end of the night.

So, I kissed a boy is that so terrible? Everyone is doing it and how often am I going to have the chance to kiss an Italian with whom I have been speaking Spanish with after leaving Sweden on a Finnish boat. I think after some careful thought we can all say never.

p.s. For those of you who know me, I dont need to say which exhibit I am more interested in. I should also mention, after all of that, Iam not so interested in Italians.