I woke around 5. My train wasn't for an hour, but this time I had no more francs to spend. I decided, in order to stay warm and not attract attention from the security, I would go to a cafe anyway. I ordered myself a muffin- it was four euros, everything in Switzerland is so much more expensive... I paid with a five and got Swiss francs back for my change. I hadn't been planning on spending any euros that day- but you do what you have to, I suppose.
By the time the train arrived and I got myself situated on it, I was so exhausted that I fell right to sleep. Unfortunately, I was so tired that, thought I woke spratically to check the stops, the last time I awoke was ten minutes too late and our train was leaving the station where I had intended to disembark to change trains. No harm done- I'd just hop off at the next stop and hop back on the other way. I accomplished that with no problems... no more naps for me... and I had only a short wait for my next connection. An American couple from Louisiana sat at the booth on the train with me. They'd met in high school and had three grown-up children who were all in medicine "to take care of us now," they said. Bob and Melinda. Bob never said what he did for work, but Melinda mentioned that she was a first grade teacher- these days specializing in reading. She said how it was so great to see in their faces that moment of clarity when they could finally read. I envy her that, but I confessed to her my desire to become a teacher and she was very encouraging- but cautioned me about the salary. I assured her, pointing out my shabby clothes and obvious lack of funds, that money was not an object. I just want to ensure that I enjoy my work. They liked that. It was revealed to them by the person who came to check the tickets that they were supposed to be in first class. They decided not to move, saying that they enjoyed sitting and chatting with me. I told them then that I was glad to have slept through my stop and missed my train. We laughed.
They explained the locks on the bridge to me as we passed. It started in Frankfurt, though I'd seen it for the first time on the bridge in Berlin. Couples carve their names into the locks and attach them to the bridge as a symbol of everlasting love. I thought it was adorable and I was reminded of all the names written inside the tunnel-like archway to the house of Juliette in Verona.
I got to my stop thinking about love.
It's a bad idea, to think about love when you have a person you want to see- it makes you want to see them more. I wanted to see _____. But, because he never replied when I asked when it would be better to come, I thought he did not want to see me again. I arrived at the station thinking about love and sad. I went to the cafe across the street and bought myself a tea so I could use the wifi. Unfortunately for me there was no message from _____ and the cafe was closing- so I had to leave. In a last-ditch effort, I sent a new message to him saying I'd arrived and that I'd like to see him and maybe if he was free we could hang out. I went outside the cafe and sat on the ledge of their wall to try to continue using their internet. It was spotty at best. And that's where I met Stu.
Stu was a middle-aged man from England, but out travelling the world for the past thirty years or so. Bona fide hobo- stuff in a bundle. Well... sort of. Sleeping bag stashed somewhere. Street guy. I liked him immediately. He came over to give me busking tips for the city. We got to talking about the world and being in it. He said "I could show you around." I said "I'd rather just go where there's decent internet." He said "But there's so much to see." I said "But there's someONE I want to see." He said "Ahh, fair enough" and gave me a wink.
He convinced me to play a little ditty on the guitar, and was trying to convince me to play louder because the cops don't care, when the cops came over and told me they did care and I couldn't play. Those were the rules, they said. So I packed up the guitar. "I think I'll go to a McDonalds nearby where I can find better wifi." "Can I accompany you?" "Please do."
We strolled down together. We got to the McDonalds- it was drizzling, but we sat outside anyway, leaning up against the ridge- not enough ledge to actually shelter us, just enough to provide the illusion of shelter, which is all that's necessary to be comfortable sometimes. I used the internet again. Still no word. My heart sank a little. I was debating what to do. I told Stu, "I don't know if I should stay and wait, or if I should just hop another train..." "I say you stay," he told me. "If anything, I've got a good dry spot to sleep and I can protect you so as no one bothers you." I could feel that he was genuine- but I didn't want to spend the night on the street... I want less and less that freedom- it feels like a prison! The Life of Pi, by Yann Martel, tells it like it is:
"Animals in the wild lead lives of compulsion and necessity within an unforgiving social hierarchy in an environment where the supply of fear is high and the supply of food is low and where territory must constantly be defended and parasites forever endured. What is the meaning of freedom in such a context?... If you went to a home, kicked down the door, chased the people into the street and said, 'Go! You are free! Free as a bird! Go! Go!'-- do you think they would shout and dance for joy? They wouldn't. Birds are not free..."
I need to find more balance. The balance between adventure and home. When I have a place I go nowhere, trying to save money so I can afford my place. When I have no place I'm exhausted by worry. I go places but I'm constantly thinking about where I'm going to eat, pee, sleep- and being a woman travelling alone means I worry also about being attacked, molested, raped. I feel eyes sometimes like fingers, my skin crawls. Sometimes I am ashamed- for no reason! For being the gender that I am! Men do that, making kissing noises as I walk by, trying to brush up against me, to kiss me after only talking casually for five minutes about the time, the weather, my guitar. Whether or not I tell them I am not travelling alone, that my uncle is coming to meet me, that my boyfriend has just run to the bathroom... no difference, no shame. I don't want to fear for my safety every night. I explained this a bit to Stu. "It's a bit different," I said, "being a woman. I have to be careful where I go, when, who I talk to- and not just because I might be robbed, but because there is always a real danger of being attacked." "I never really thought about that," he said. He told me about walking once with a woman, innocently, just as he and I had just done, but when he went to lead her down a shortcut through an alleyway, she stopped and refused to follow. "I wouldn't have either," I confessed. "No offense, but we, as women, are conditioned to fear men. We send e-mails to each other. 'Top 10 things rape victims have in common!' Pony tails are easy to grab. Earphones mean you can't hear someone sneaking up on you. Don't walk alone! Don't go out at night! Don't go down dark alleyways! Don't drink anything you didn't see prepared! Cover up, Cover up!! Live your life in fear!! The world is out to get your lady-parts!!! I'm EXHAUSTED by this! I have to keep all of this in my head when I look for places to sleep, and it's impossible, so often I just don't sleep." So I get no sleep and I'm too tired to go exploring. Balance! I need to be able to afford to LIVE in a place- not just sleep there. I crave normalcy. I've tasted the middle class and yes, it was a little blander than poverty, but it was much more filling. Spice can't sustain... I'm tired.
Stu is tired as well, and unlike me, fortunate me, he has NO options. Shady silly doings in his youth have all but crippled his employment prospects. Busking can only take you so far.
I knew a man, Jason, in Washington, who was content with living on the street. For him it was comfortable. He'd been on the street for 10 years, he knew the town, the town knew him. He had a dry place to sleep. He didn't bother anyone and no one bothered him- it was good for him. I don't think I would be satisfied living that way. I want more from life than existence. I want to make an impact on the world, leave a mark, change lives. I want to grow as a person, to become better... I want to belong somewhere.
I don't know if I could belong in Europe. Maybe it would be worth it to give it a shot sometime.
Anyway.
We brought out my guitar again, while I waited for a response or anything from _____. I played a little, Stu played a little. He said he sang better than Michael Jackson and peaked my interest. Then he said he sang better than Whitney Houston, Amy Winehouse, Davy Jones.
"They're all dead."
"Yep, and so now I sing better."
Hilarious.
He showed me the main chords to Adele's 'Someone Like You'. I gave him the lyrics. Then he taught me the notes to 'Stairway to Heaven' and a nice strum pattern- I took a video so I could practice. Sometime while he was playing Pink Floyd I checked my Facebook again to find a beautiful message saying "Where are you? I'll be there within the hour." I replied and told Stu that _____ was on the way. He looked happy for me, but a little sad to be losing his companion. We rocked out until _____ came. Stu told me that I'd brightened up his day. He'd been contemplating just going to bed, but I made him want to go out and do more with his evening. I gave him the few coins from my coin purse and the buck or two we'd made singing so he could buy himself something to eat. He left. I missed him a bit. I hope for all the best for him. I hope he finds what he's looking for. I send him my love.
Later
_____ and I sat next to each other in a booth at a hookah bar, sharing mint shishah. I kissed his neck. He has a beautiful neck. Smooth tan skin that drives me wild.
...
He asked me what I wanted from our... situation (I hesitate to call it a relationship.) He said he thought we should leave it as it was. I agreed. But deep inside I wished he would have said 'I'll save money and go back with you!' He can't. He has too many responsibilities here. I would never let him leave them so unceremoniously anyway. It was a dream, a fleeting dream... He told me I was beautiful. He-
- he made me feel like I could be someone's girlfriend, like I'm special enough for someone to keep, to love even. Writing this I want to cry; I don't know if it's for him or for that feeling. I want to belong to someone. I want someone to fight for me...
But then it was late hand he had to work and so he left.
And now I'm left feeling a hope I'd forgotten I had.
keep strong
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