"if you could get a tattoo, what would it be of?""that's the thing. there's nothing that i'm passionate enough about yet. there's nothing i will cherish forever. there is nothing in my life that i want to have put on my body. i guess that's why i'm traveling......i'm searching for my tattoo."
-david
"are your feet cold?"
"yes, but look at these boots. see where they're worn? that's spain. i lost that heel in amsterdam. and see that hole there? that's from italy. and that one, from belgium. that tear in the top, i got that one in paris. and that scuff on the side, that's from dublin. there's a whole world under these boots."
-alessandro, yo
they made it. [sort of.] these traveling boots were steadily with me every day, they carried every story along the way. they carried a world under them. they held all of my secrets and experiences and dreams and pasts. they treated me well. and then, in a ceremony of gratitude and despedida, i bid them farewell on the streets of paris. i bid them farewell for the next person to find them, for the next person to line them with cardboard or fabric, to warm them and worn them. for the next traveler to pick up on their way around the world. they treated me well. and now, let me tell you some of the stories they had in them. goodbye, you traveling shoes.
we started going from cádiz to milan italy (for a flight layover) and then ended up in amsterdam. we made it to our hostel, a really famous one called "the flying pig." it was beautiful, a nice bar in the basement, really safe, really beautiful. but if that is all the city had to offer, i would stop there. the delight did not stop in the hostel. in fact, amsterdam is the most beautiful city i have seen year-to-date [again. not to say much. lets go farther. life-to-date, in it's own way, i suppose.] absolutely stunning. with old buildings, tall and thin, lining the streets and the canals. the streets full of christmas lights, strewn through canals. it is the quintessential european city, with trams and an iceskating rink and christmas trees and pubs and coffee shops.
all of you ever hear of this city is the drugs and the prostitution (both of which are prevalent, both of which exist), but there is so much more than that. there is kindness, there is a culture, there is beauty. there are more bikes than there are humans in the city, and they are rarely locked.
there is trust. there is happiness. emily and erin and i were walking in the street one day and santa came around the corner. yup. santa. "DO YOU WANT A PICTURE??" of course we want a picture. "THREE OF THEM! WE'LL GIVE YOU THREE! FOR FREE!" and that was it. three polaroid photos, handfuls of little chocolates, and ya está. we hunted down what we wanted to experience, and ya está.
there was a freeing spirit during those days in amsterdam.
a few days later, on christmas eve, we caught a train to brugges (belgium). the trip there brought christmas phone calls and carols of silent night from the family, an omen of course to how lovely our time would be in brugges. it was magical.
the city is tiny. a disney-land of sorts, a city that feels like it has not moved [or maybe that it has not stopped moving] since the middle ages. it carries history, pride, and the flemmish language. of course i speak flemmish.
we checked into our christmas-present-hotel on christmas-eve: the die swaene. oh. my. gosh. this hotel was amazing. incredible. we had a room of magic: entirely decorated in rich, lavish red tones, with a small vanity tucked in the corner, with down blankets, with robes and slippers. the key came on a rope fit for queens. for kings. for princesses and, well, travelers.
with a pool that looked like it belonged to the most extravagant spas in the world. we had a balcony that overlooked the dining room and the various brown-toned-brick rooftops of brugges. outside the hotel was a canal, strewn with christmas lights. we hung our long socks by the radiator for stockings, we tucked into our robes, and we laid in bed and watched audrey hepburn movies on television. it was enchanting.
of course we left the hotel room once or twice for an incredible buffet breakfast in the cave-of-a-dining-room where they used to age the meat and the wine. of course we left the hotel once to go iceskating in the center of the city. of course we left once to eat traditional flemmish meals (rabbit in a belgium beer stew sauce? of course i'll try it. sorry, oreo.) our first days in belgium were slow and delightful.
we left the day after christmas to move to a hostel. still charming, of course (as are most things in belgium). we stayed in "bauhaus," where there was another happening bar and wonderful traveling scene. it feels different when you are traveling during the holidays-- everybody is searching for that bit of home and that bit of family that they are missing. it was in this city that we met some wonderful australians, mexicans, italians, and fellow americans. lovely folk, simply lovely.
after throwing stones on frozen canals with new friends, after seeing the huge windmills,
and drinking hot wine and eating brats and onions and waffles and chocolate,
after hunting down the "debruyn" bed and breakfast,
our time in brugges had come to an end.
we soaked up our time in belgium, and headed off to paris (france). the train tickets were nearly sold out, and so it ended up that we needed to [... ehem... as we like to travel in style...] buy first class train tickets to paris. haha. así es la vida, ¿no? :) we did just that. and with a farewell to brugges, we boarded the train (the lavish train, with bottled water and a meal and wifi and plugs and dimmed lights and coat holders) and were on our way.
the first few nights in paris we couch surfed (there is a website where you can find somebody's couch to stay on, saving money, getting a local and inside perspective of the city it seems to work out well). it worked out well for us. pierre was a kind gentlemen, gave us a bed to sleep in, and met us for drinks and evening city-tours.
we spent new years eve with pierre and his friends in the forest. the parisian forest. his friend's mom owns an old theater, where they were hosting a big new years party. it was a "bring a drink or food and get in for free" sort of deal. drinking and dancing and ringing in two thousand and nine in parisian style. it was an interesting way to ring in the new year. and, yes, fun (up until the point that we realized the metro was not, in fact, running all night and we had a three-hour walk ahead of us). oh well, does the boots good.
after a few nights at pierres we headed to hotel saint sebastian, where we spent the next week. it was a charming little hotel, an attic room with exposed ceiling beams. charming for the strong-of-heart. we [secretly[ enjoyed the dance parties that our middle-eastern neighbors privately hosted in the wee hours of the morning. we [secretly] loved the graffiti carved into the wooden beams and walls. it was from here that we meandered into the real paris: to amelie's cafe and the moulin rouge; to the eiffel tower and the seine river; to versailles and marais and le chat noir and sacre coure and the louvre and many marvelous myriads of neighborhoods. we had no rush. we had days and days to soak in the life that was.
it was finally in paris that some snow came our way. delightful. thick. white. rich. the kind of sight that this michigander longs for. without snow it never really is a true winter. it was just what we needed to press on.
the best part of paris. the story beyond stories. the tale that, not unlike hotel saint sebastian, is for the strong of heart, is this. one day we decided to stroll to the plaza where marie antoinette was guillotined. a little history never hurt anyone. and in this case, it only helped us. after exploring the plaza and ghosts and surrounding areas, our stroll begin. famous streets and lit trees and glorious views, it was incredible. we walked and walked and finally stumbled upon a crowd of people. if i learned one thing on this trip [a true lie let me warn you right now], it is that a crowd is always a good sign. always. we were outside of a theater, there was a red carpet, and so we asked around in our inability to speak french. we decided to stick around, weasel our way up to the front, get a good look at what was coming our way. and then it happened. he stepped out of the limo. he walked out onto the red carpet, black tuxedo, so sharp, so handsome, what a stud. he waved and signed autographs and waved and laughed and got close to the crowd. we were in the front, but on the fringe. "he's not coming our way." or so we thought. here he comes here he comes here he comes. i am ashamed to say [again, a complete lie] that erin and i completely lost our cool at this moment. things transformed, we reverted to sixteen year old girls, screaming and gooing and gahing. but it was worth it. what came out of our mouths? "in west philadelphia born and raised on a playground...." he heard us. not only did he hear us, but he joined in. "on a playground is where i spent most of my..." oh. my. god. will smith is singing with us. singing with us! will smith! right here! in front of our faces! singing! i had my camera in my hand, and in the excitement of everything he grabbed my camera, came into my embrace [yes, look closely, both of those brown mittens are mine indeed, i may or may not be hugging the handsome man], and snapped a picture. will. you are a good man. and, as it turns out, you are now my favorite actor. highlight of paris.
on my birthday, erin and i woke up bright and early to catch our flight to dublin (ireland). it was the last stop on our journey, and a bittersweet farewell to emily and karina and paris and all the places we had been thusfar. four thirty in the morning came far to early, as we took our last walk to the metro in hopes of finding the bus to the airport.
dublin was charming. a city of green, of guinness [and tours of said factory], of hilarity. it was the perfect place to spend a twentysecond birthday.
i reunited with an old friend from spu; crossing paths in distant lands. we met some locals, they showed us their favorite places to see, and we ended the night singing "i love you baby" with irishmen in a packed pub. wonderful. a charming ending to the trip of a lifetime.
a day and a half in ireland. and back to spain. back to home. back to where i belong for now.
time to ring in what will come next. the next journey. the next place to bring these new traveling shoes. the next story to walk upon and carry with me and put inside of that place within me that holds so many things in this world so dear to my heart. this world makes me a better person. this world makes me stronger, more courageous, gives me strength and passion and hopes and dreams. this world a damn good place.
they say i'm going to quit these wandering ways some day. i'm not convinced. :)
