The past 9 days came and went and it feels like I barely even noticed. I have no idea what happened, but I have a lot of pictures. Sensory overload I think, and here are a few semi-specifics:
I went to Paris. I stayed at Aloha Hostel and it smelled like urine and feet, but the guy at the check-in was sexy and blonde and Australian, so I felt okay about things. I was kind of depressed at first, but then I got shitfaced with innocent little 19 yr old boys from Chile or somewhere, lost my Spanish cell phone and about 30 Euros, and woke up the next morning with all these long pink ribbons woven into my braid. Then I met Fabrizia (Fabz) an Italian/Portuguese/South African chica with the loudest laugh and the biggest boobs ever.
We got drunk about 2 minutes after noon at Harry's New York Bar, where Hemingway hung out back in the day, and where the Bloody Mary and a few other drinks were invented. Then we wandered around the Latin Quarter and took a lot of stupid pictures of each other. Somewhere in there I managed to get to all the important crap you're supposed to get to...the Louvre and the "Tour Eiffel" et cetera. I kept wanting to touch things in the Louvre, I think all the guards were stalking me in pairs. We went to a piano bar where a skinny guy played a baby grand like he wanted to fuck it and a sultry woman snapped her fingers and swayed her hips and crooned into the microphone, and did all that without being cheesy. Then somehow it was the next morning again and the aforementioned sexy Australian was by my bed, asking me very politely to get the fuck out so he could clean the room.
Fabz was gone, but left me a very nice note. I smoked some hash with some weird Polish kids next to the Seine and kind of behind Notre Dame Cathedral, tried to go to Versailles
but it was closed, then tried to go to the cemetary where Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde are buried, but that was closed too. Then I went back to the hostel and somehow managed to make a can of beer explode inside the beer vending machine. Thankfully, the Australian wasn't around.
Then I went to Lisbon. I stayed at Hostel Lemon, and it smelled better but the staff wasn't as sexually appealing. I walked around a lot, as the Portuguese don't seem to take the subway seriously (there were about 3 stops, are you kidding?).
The sidewalks are black and white mosaics...pretty, but slippery. I amused myself and the people around me by falling a few thousand times, and then went for gelato and didn't drink anything alcoholic. All in all it was a pretty wholesome first day. The next day I met a Welsh guy name David, and we ate the little custard tarts that Portugal is famous for, drank too much wine, and rode one of the little yellow tram cars around for a couple of hours. The next day I spent a lot of time lost in the Alfama district. I did some tourist shit, and ended up in a castle overlooking Lisbon, drinking espresso shots with a Spaniard named Matteo who may or may not have been hitting on me. We met up with some of his friends, two of which were Australian (lots of Aussies wandering around Europe apparently) went to a bunch of bars, and I somehow ended up at one right across from my hostel, so I dropped a bunch of 2 euro coins on Matteo's shoes and wandered up to bed muttering to myself and trying not to seem completely fucking bombed.
I skipped a few days in there somewhere, mostly because they were kind of mellow, filled with pastry-eating and museum-wandering, or because they were spent at the airport standing in line.
That's my eurotrip 2008. So far, at least....I'm going to Barcelona on Tuesday.