Friday, October 22, 2010

9:10 PM

Nice, France

Pastoral Hotel, Room 8

Ah! The French Riviera—the perfect place to relax and recharge my traveler’s batteries. It is a comfortable climate here, somewhere around seventy degrees, I imagine. Everything feels like summer here and I feel my spirits lifting. With a brighter outlook it’s time to reflect on the past couple of days, I think.

The last I wrote I was sitting in a Starbucks, in Prague, waiting for the city to wake up. I left around noon and waded out into the crowded street. A bustling Prague was much more inviting than the earlier, quiet Prague. The city was, indeed, beautiful. The buildings were composed of stunning verandas, carvings, and colors. Monuments stood every fifty meters or so it seemed, the streets were charmingly cobbled, and even the sun was shining.

The only real problem I had with Prague was that it felt like one gargantuan open-air museum. Everyone appeared to be a tourist and I didn’t see the city as home to anyone in particular. My deepest fascination with a city comes not from a mere continuity of architecture, but from a continuity of life. It is not enough for me to see a church that has stood for a thousand years if there has not been worship in it for a hundred. I am most in awe of a simple wall that has stood along a well-used path for a thousand years, ugly though it may be.

But I can’t be too hard on the city—it was magnificent. I was disappointed that the grand library there was closed—it’s supposed to be one of the most beautiful in the world, but oh well. There is a bridge that connects the city across a river. It is easily one of the most incredible bridges I’ve been on. The entire bridge is marked every twenty or so feet by very impressive statues of stone, bronze, and gold. All along the way people stop to pray at the figures, rubbing their hands on what I’m guessing are saint’s images. On the other side you can make your way up steep corridors, past ancient pubs and quaint bakeries that sell cylindrical pastries, to the castle atop a hill. The castle is guarded by two men in crisp uniforms, who I believe are meant to not move, much as the guards at Buckingham. The man on the right did very well, but you could see the younger soldier on the left squirming, fighting very hard not to laugh as cute girls circled him for photographs and whispered in his ears (god knows what).

From Prague I went to Amsterdam, where I had a hostel booked in anticipation of my inability to find my way to a train on time later that day. Now, Amsterdam is a really nice city. I felt comfortable there, ready to wind my way through narrow passages and explore the nooks and crannies of this city split up by concentric circles (sorta) of canals.

I went to my hostel and dropped my stuff off and made a list of places to go before I lost the good sense to understand what I was seeing. I went to the library but I imagine I must have gone to the wrong one as this one was terribly dull. I left almost immediately and made my way to the Sex Museum where I spent the next hour or so perusing over the fine art pertaining to sex from all ages and all places. Not exactly high-brow, but worth a chuckle. They had moving animatronics, like one thing made to look like a skeevy old man who slides forward on a track when you walk by and flashes you from beneath his trench coat. Classy.

I then went on a hunt to find the red lights of the Red Lights district. I was promised hot babes dancing in windows and dammit I was gonna find them! After a good half hour of wandering aimlessly through the streets I finally saw the crimson glow. The windows were filled with a good share of attractive young ladies, arching their backs and curling a finger for you to join them…but, there were also the rather horrifying women who I can only imagine make their money off of a very special niche customer base.

Having soaked up the sights I went in search of a coffee shop to try out some stress-free marijuana. I can’t recall the name of the place a chose, but it was well-lit, with a separate room for smokers, and it was relatively quiet. I went in and ordered a joint filled with “NYC Deisel,” a weed that supposedly tastes of red grapes and provides a “cerebral high”—exactly what I was looking for. I had decided against the space cakes since I read that the high lasts much longer and I was uncomfortable with that idea.

I went into the smoker’s lounge, relieved myself in the bathroom, bummed a light, and breathed deep. I took around three or five hits and set the joint down to wait for some effect before continuing. Well, I didn’t have to wait long. The high hit me fast and hard just as I started to try writing about my experience in my notebook. My hand began to shake, which you can see in my writing. My heart began to race and I began to sweat. My body went numb, then fizzed, as if all my skin went to sleep. My vision became multi-colored spotty, like looking at a television screen up close. The music became dull, as if I waslistening from behind a door. And I was panicking. I tried to be rational, to calm down, but the paranoia that grabs me any time I smoke took hold. I was scared stiff, stuck to my seat, unsure weather to go to the bathroom (I was also nauseous) or go outside (I was scared to go out). I just sat and hoped the high would go away.

It did, finally, calm down. I settled into a calm high after about five minutes of pure terror. That’s when the amusingly stereotypical high set in. I started to have really weird ideas, some of which I wrote down in my notebook. When I finally did get up to go for a walk and listen to Nightwish as I had planned, it felt as if I was moving because—get this—I had a loop of frictionless string around my ankles that pulled and swung me forwards. My path meandered all over the road as the string had its way with me. When I finally turned on the music all I could think of was those big stacks of meat that they make gyros from being carved in the most epic manner possible.

I promptly went to a Kebab stand to get some food and experience the wonders of eating while high. I really didn’t get a sense of the taste of the food, but rather of the texture. I could feel eat piece of the meat as my teeth ravaged it. Very strange.

Belly full I worked hard to focus my mind and headed for the hostel, Nightwish’s “Once” album blasting into my ears. It felt like all I did was stare at my feet while I walked, thinking up really strange and stupid ideas, but somehow I made it back. I put on a movie, just to see what that would be like, but fell asleep rather quickly.

The latter part of the high was alright, and genuinely interesting, to be honest. I had a humorous paranoia for that part, in that my mind’s pareadolia went into hyperdrive, and suddenly every sound was someone talking behind me and there were people everywhere watching me (which turned out to be walls). It would have been interesting to have someone to talk to, but otherwise I got everything I wanted out of the experience. I don’t think I could ever do it again; while the latter part was interesting and at times amusing, the first five minutes were so utterly, hopelessly terrifying that I couldn’t bear to go through it again.

I took the train to Paris the next morning, ending up stuck in Amiens for a few hours. Amiens was a quaint little French town which I quite enjoyed exploring during my time waiting for the next train. The cathedral there was absolutely astounding, rivaling the Notre Dame cathedral in Paris for grandeur and beauty.

When I finally got to Paris I booked the only night train for twenty-five Euro to Nice, France. I sped off to the English bookstores I knew and bought some science books and then sped off to the train and soon found myself rocked to sleep in a couchette.

When I finally got off the train I was greeted by a warm breeze—hallelujah! I found my way to a McDonalds and booked myself into a hostel—it’s too nice here in Nice to leave. It only got warmer as the day went on and I took a train to Monaco, the second smallest country in the world, and famous for its Grand Prix race featured in Iron Man 2! The warm weather and the palm tree lined streets rekindled my sense of discovery in travelling. I had a crepe and a Monaco beer (figured I can’t get that anywhere else!), and wandered all around the country built into the side of a mountain. Steep staircases winded down to small roads, to yacht-filled ports.

When I got back to Nice I bought some snacks and made my way to the beach, complete with smooth stones for sitting, and crystal-blue Mediterranean water for swimming. I stuck my hand into the water (and my boots, unfortunately) and marveled at how incredibly warm it was. It was like bathwater! I sat back and opened my notebook, hoping for some inspiration from the colorful vistas. Off to my right the sun was setting, lighting the sky orange and red over the west of the Cote d’Azur; to my left, the pale green-yellow moon rose up from behind a lush hill, a medieval structure perched alongside, against a lavender sky.

I got one poem out, at least.

And then I came back here, to work on figuring out what to do about college and whatnot. I think I’ll stay in Nice for a while. There’s apparently an English library, the weather is incredible, and the hostels are cheap. I’d like to get to know this city, I think.