I'm thinking overnight train to Budapest, a couple of days lollygagging in Turkish spas, perhaps a day or two at Lake Ballaton, then on to Croatia and the Dalmatian Coast, maybe a side trip to Mostar, then back to Dubrovnik and across to Venice, see a bit of Italy before heading to Le Cote d'Azur! I really should consider a budget, but I've never before done such a thing. It just all seems to work out, as long as I only splurge every once in a while and live meagerly the rest of the time. Eastern Europe is pretty cheap; I need to save my pennies for Italy and France.
This time of year seems to be crazy with tourists everywhere. I almost prefer travelling when it's bleak and gray and when I'm the only crazy person around. Where is it quiet; where have these people all come from? Those places must be dead empty, unless it's Paris and London from which those people are escaping to get away from the tourists. . . .
But how dare I complain as I traipse around the globe?
In other news, my ipod is ready to retire and so are my pants. They're ready to walk right off me. Time to go shopping. . . . As for the ipod, well, it displays a horrible little exclamation point next to a file folder when I turn it on. I did everything the troubleshooting website told me to do, but I can't even restore the thing because my Mac doesn't recognize the ipod. Sheesh. The dude at the Apple store told me the ipod wasn't long for this world; they're not made to last very long, and I've had mine for two years. Wah. No more muzak of my choosing in Eastern Europe.
Last night Kiki and I went to see "A Prairie Home Companion" in English with Czech subtitles. All the movies in the listing were written in Czech, and it was the only film we recognized. Bad screenplay. Wonderful performances. How does that happen? Are actors so giddy to work with Altman they'll do any old shit?
After the film, we went to Le Cafe Louvre, a famous joint where Kafka used to hang out and write (or so the story goes), to get a bite to eat. The waiter dumped off some particularly stale bread (the only kind there is in the Czech Republic) and a tray of condiments, neither of which we ate or used. Then we got charged "couvert" for these things--a cover charge for the privilege of eating stale bread and paprika sauce! I tried to explain to the waiter that we neither asked for nor ate the stuff, but he wasn't having any of it, and I couldn't stand the smell of his pitted-out waiter uniform anymore, so we paid the charge and left in a huff, ugly Americans open to getting ripped off that we are.
I'm getting tired of this place. Itching for adventure or home or both at the same time. When I thought I had no money and no identity of my own, I looked into changing my flight. It would cost an additional $930 to do it. Yikes! Yet far less than I'll spend the rest of the month gallavanting around. Less fun. More practical. This is the debate I've been having inside my head. And sticking my head into the mouth of the monster is where I'm going. Facing the unknown, arms open wide.
It helped to read the NYT this morning and take a look at some articles about Croatia and the South of France. Got me excited about what's in store. Imagine the unimaginable for a bit.
How're y'all's Sundays?
3 comments:
I wish I had the time, now. I'd come intercept you somewhere.
Hope it's a great adventure. Take pictures!
T'anks 'los. I'll be posting from the road. Looks like I might swing through Italy after all. What happened to your trip there?
My friend I was supposed to be staying with got a job in another part of the country for the month of August.
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