Wide Awake in Wonderland

We’re only dancing on this earth for a short while

Time to Move On October 29, 2008

Waiting outside the Blue Mosque for the hour they let us infidels in.

Waiting outside the Blue Mosque for the hour they let us infidels in.

In preparation for one of the longer travel days of my life, I have some serious packing to do. I have a ton of things to tell you about, but I hope you forgive me as I think I’ll pend them until tomorrow (when I have extensive sitting on my butt plane time and a five-hour layover at Charles de Gaulle to find an internet hot spot.)

The Blue Mosque with perfect lighting (just after sunset)

The Blue Mosque with perfect lighting (just after sunset)

In exchange for your indulgence, I’ll post some pictures from the last couple days, and hopefully the captions will satisfy any Turkey cravings. Be careful the triptophan chaser. It’s a doozy.

As for me, the hostel no longer offers running water, and a strange man walked into the room T and I share while I was changing (she was downstairs at the time). It’s time to go.

I thought this shot was National Geographic-worthy. YET ANOTHER possible career opportunity!?

I thought this shot was National Geographic-worthy. YET ANOTHER possible career opportunity!?

It’s been a long, short, strange, complicated, exhilarating, exhausting, frustrating, and wonderful three months. In a way, I’m sorry to see it end. On the other hand, if there is one thing you know about me by now, it’s that I like to move on. And I’m ready. Admittedly, the locale isn’t quite so exotic, but I’m certain the story will continue to be compelling. And if it isn’t, I’ll just start making sh*t up.

Inside a mosque, flashing the blue eyes that get us into so much trouble...

Inside a mosque, flashing the blue eyes that get us into so much trouble...

So I leave you tonight with the (immortal?) words of Mr. Tom Petty,

Time to move on. Time to get going,

What lies ahead, I have no way of knowing

Under my feet, babe, the grass is growing

Time to move on. Time to get going.


Vienna waits for you October 1, 2008

Long train rides require protein...like the leg of what was hopefully once some kind of fowl. My Slovenian isn´t great, so I´m not all that sure.

Long train rides require protein...like the leg of what was hopefully once some kind of fowl. My Slovenian isn´t great, so I´m not all that sure.

Although she doesn’t have to wait too long, as I’ll be there in time for dinner.


Meanwhile, I can’t remember if I told you this already, but my iPod wigged out somewhere around Ireland. Since then, I have been reduced to a crazy and highly selective mishmash of music. Of 725 songs in its memory, it chooses to play only around two dozen of them. Truthfully, I find the particular lineup mysterious. Is my iPod trying to TELL me something???




Anyway, I used to have playlists to avoid such juxtaposition as Patty Griffin’s heart-breaking “Top of the World” fading into the rocking guitar intro of AC/DC’s “Shook Me All Night Long”. Now such moments are common place.


There are artists I miss that my iPod has decided I didn’t need to be listening to anymore – Ani DiFranco, Tom Petty, Damien Rice, Kathleen Edwards, Bob Marley. Of those it will play, I am allowed only one little taste. However, it has magically preserved some of my favorite songs like Goodnight Elisabeth by the Counting Crows, Ootischenia by The Be Good Tanyas, and Pale Moon by Shannon McNally. For those small wonders, I am grateful.

Lovely Ljubljana

Lovely Ljubljana


At the same time, as this short list is in regular rotation, I get plenty of chances to really hear each and every word. Again and again and again. Maybe this is just the madness talking, but it’s funny to me how some of the lyrics seem really apropos to me and my life right now.


  • “I was wasted in the afternoon, waiting on a train.” Granted, I’m almost never wasted in the afternoon and certainly haven’t been on this solo journey, but I do wait on a lot of trains.


  • “Little sad with everything around me. I hit the floor and my feet kept moving. I look forward, and never backwards. I was out the door like a Roman soldier.” (Kind of like this trip)


  • “She had sightless eyes, telling me no lies, and knocking me out with those American thighs.” (kidding about that one – although climbing four and five flights of stairs with a giant backpack is good toning for the American thighs)


  • “Where are you going? Where do you go? Are you looking for answers to questions under the stars?” (This is when one of my less-aware multiple personalities tunes in and is like, “What the f**k are we doing in Slovenia?”


  • And from Billy Joel’s Vienna, “Slow down, you’re doing fine. You can’t be everything you want to be before your time.” and “And you know that when the truth is told, that you can get what you want or you can just get old.” (These are the kinds of things I tell myself when I get to worrying about the future or ‘should I have left my job working for the biggest dickhead in America? Except for maybe Rush Limbaugh. And Dick Cheney. And Michael Vick. And Larry Craig. And, the big kahuna, George Bush.’ I don’t worry as much as some people, because I’m easily distracted.)



On the other hand, maybe I’m getting all deep about these song lyrics because it’s all I have to drown out the sounds of all the loud talkers. Good lord, in what twisted laboratory are they breeding these people?

Outside the Ljubljana castle

Outside the Ljubljana castle


I can tell you for sure that there’s one in Greece. On today’s train from Ljubljana to Maribor, near the Slovenia/Austria border, there were two Greek guys (according to them) who carried on so loudly that I thought maybe it was performance art. One of the guys was named “Alexandre”. I know this because the other would open every sentence by more or less screaming this and waggling a finger at him. He also gave him the ‘evil eye’ for like three hours. I don’t know what they were discussing (it was Greek to me! Ha ha), but they seemed so furious at one another, I couldn’t really fathom why they were traveling together. Thus I figured they had to be related.


Meanwhile, despite the infernal ruckus (even with my 20 songs – detailed above – playing at levels certain to damage my eardrums and render me deaf long before my time), the other thing that made these two buffoons a particular spectacle was that the primary screamer was also a big eater. A big – no HUGE – eater endowed with what seemed an endless supply of pastries and Red Bull. It was like the Mary Poppins bag. He kept reaching in, and stuff kept coming out.


Thus, he would cram an entire croissant in his mouth and then pound his fists and scream (as much as you can with a face full of dough) at the other guy. I actually took a short video of this it was so disturbing…and yet compelling. It was definitely a moment you wish you had someone there to nudge and say, “Hey, get a load of the furious primate with half a bakery spewing out of his mouth…”



Finally, a big thank you to all my friends who so kindly and generously offered to wire me money during my Bank of America ATM non-working debit card nervous breakdown. I am relieved to report that I actually spoke to a real, live human today and (theoretically – I didn’t do a trial withdrawal) the problem is solved!!!

Unlike the Lithuanians, the Slovenians don´t want you bringing your gluttonous three-scoop icecream cones onto their public transit.

Unlike the Lithuanians, the Slovenians don´t want you bringing your gluttonous three-scoop ice cream cones onto their public transit.

However, please make a note that my birthday is less than two weeks away – October 13th – and don’t feel shy about lavishing your beloved friend on the occasion of her birth. True, she’s a little horrified about the number associated with this birthday, but such is life. Nevertheless, perhaps a little something something at the Western Union office or direct deposited into her bank account might help heal her pain? Or fund an evening drowning her pain in booze? Either way. It’s all good…



Learning to Fly, But I Ain’t Got Wings July 4, 2008

How I love Tom Petty. My ex (C) and I were still technically married when he revealed his relationship with a 40-something Asian woman.  We were 28, which begets a little bit of a mommy complex, but whatever. That stated, however, I remember explaining to someone that in breaking up with him, I felt like I’d abandoned a child I”d adopted. Like Angelina dumping Maddox.

Anyway, and frankly Scarlett, I didn’t give a shit. I’d left him and this lifted my burden.  In fact, in lieu of longing or jealousy, I was rather pissed as I was solely paying for the  mortgage on the log home in which they hosted their new age communion. Beyond that, I was just glad she’d smoothed my exit. However, I’ve never been one for a parasite. Thus, to add insult to injury, the one thing that got to me was when he claimed that she had been Tom Petty’s next-door-neighbor in Pacific Palisades, CA. Obviously , the fancy digs belonged to some other dude…but TOM PETTY. Tom Petty!? I freaking LOOOOOOOOOOOVE Tom Petty (and he knew it). Truly, knife to the heart.

I once had a wonderful dream that it was my birthday and Tom Petty was my BFF and we (and some friends) chilled on the shore while he jammed for us. It was like heaven…only better. So to learn that the lame 40-something bitch living on my dime was maybe tight with Tom Petty. Ugh. Ulcer.

As for C, I still wonder if it were true, or if he invented it to hurt me. I left him – whatever and good luck/good riddance – but I have long dreamed of being buds with Mr. Petty. That stated, and perhaps true to form, I’ve just donated the last four hours of my Fourth of July to watching the Tom Petty documentary “Running Down a Dream” on Sundance. LOVED IT. Admittedly, it was LONG. Like really, really couple of bottles of wine LONG.  Four hours and many, many adult drinks long. And I’m a little fuzzy from the libations, so in the interest of myself and any sensitive parties, I will end it here…

ENJOY YOUR FOURTH OF JULY! God Bless America and all that!!!