what i wonder is why webdings is an option for a font on blogspot. talk about a confusing blog... well, i'll give it my best shot... in letters.
(it's an artistic choice to use all lower case.)
so here we are again. me at my computer, you at yours. a battle of wits... shall we begin?
age is just a number. to all, to some... no matter, we all have one. a number that hangs over us almost like a cheap form of identification. where to start, where to start?? ah, here...
laura, manuele's girlfriend, lives here at the hostel. she is american and she has been here for 10 months (this trip). she teaches english at several schools, has studied abroad at the university of foreigners (i swear to god that's the name of it) here when at university and has her life here with manuele. she also has a life in america, in pennsylvania, family and friends and a job to go back to. upon my arrival she burst into the room and had with her this energy of power, and strength. i was, in fact, in awe and intimidated by this woman. i thought "wow, she has her shit together." she has this really cool life in italy, she has her direction, she has her path. i walked behind her hoping to pick up any scraps of advice or pieces of life's certainty she may be finished with and leave for me to pick dry. we have talked about her decisions to come in life. for instance, should she go to graduate school or stay in italy longer. all these things i have to look forward to, in time.
jump to jen. an australian woman, a nurse, on holiday, paid by the state of australia for 3 months time for her 10 years of dedication as a nurse. travelling throughout the 3 months, she left her mortgage for a trip to europe. a self proclaimed oldest-person-here she set herself aside for the night. when the coversation hit a lull she would spark it up by re-living that "one time she was so wasted and she was dancing on the table tops in turkey, making out with the bartender, having only slept 5 hours in 3 days and so on.." needless to say that story put me to shame, because i have not had a story like that on my own trip to europe (so far ;))
and then there was shimi, an israeli, in italy for a month. he was a woofer which is something to the effect of world-organization-of-organic-farmers-or something. he quit after the first week. he said he wanted to come to italy to work with goats, or pick olives and make olive oil. the farm he was at assigned him to shoveling donkey shit. he said "i don't need a lesson in learning how to shovel donkey shit. so i left." he was not a big drinker. we ended up playing a game of " i never" which is basically the quickest way to get drunk. he got sick and passed out, woke up hungover the next morning. he is on his way back to israel to finish his medical degree, he will be a vetrinarian. he will probably get married after he finishes his degree.
then there was the scotish lass, also in italy for a month. we spent the whole day together chatting it away. we knew all about eachother... and quite a bit about eachothers past before we went to dinner. we walked the 20 minute walk to the restaurant, struggled through the italian menu and my italian order, settled on a bottle of wine and the question came to light. "oh by the way... what are your names?"
and then i found out
laura is 22
that "one time in turkey" was last week.
that was the drunkest shimi had ever been, and will ever be, he assured us.
her name is alexis.
i used to be so good at calling peoples age. in travelling it means nothing. the one thing about travellers is we all share a spirit. of adventure, of uncertainty, of new-ness, of open-ness with a serving of vulnerability to wash it down with. you don't need to know a persons name to share an unforgettable experience (like me with the crowd of people and cheap bottle of wine we sat at the trevi fountain with), you don't need to know their age. now, when i share my life expereinces with guests and they ask my age, i laugh to myself at the novice question. they're comparing themselves to me... where they've been and where they're going. i recognize it - i did it, too, then... when i was their age.
(it's an artistic choice to use all lower case.)
so here we are again. me at my computer, you at yours. a battle of wits... shall we begin?
age is just a number. to all, to some... no matter, we all have one. a number that hangs over us almost like a cheap form of identification. where to start, where to start?? ah, here...
laura, manuele's girlfriend, lives here at the hostel. she is american and she has been here for 10 months (this trip). she teaches english at several schools, has studied abroad at the university of foreigners (i swear to god that's the name of it) here when at university and has her life here with manuele. she also has a life in america, in pennsylvania, family and friends and a job to go back to. upon my arrival she burst into the room and had with her this energy of power, and strength. i was, in fact, in awe and intimidated by this woman. i thought "wow, she has her shit together." she has this really cool life in italy, she has her direction, she has her path. i walked behind her hoping to pick up any scraps of advice or pieces of life's certainty she may be finished with and leave for me to pick dry. we have talked about her decisions to come in life. for instance, should she go to graduate school or stay in italy longer. all these things i have to look forward to, in time.
jump to jen. an australian woman, a nurse, on holiday, paid by the state of australia for 3 months time for her 10 years of dedication as a nurse. travelling throughout the 3 months, she left her mortgage for a trip to europe. a self proclaimed oldest-person-here she set herself aside for the night. when the coversation hit a lull she would spark it up by re-living that "one time she was so wasted and she was dancing on the table tops in turkey, making out with the bartender, having only slept 5 hours in 3 days and so on.." needless to say that story put me to shame, because i have not had a story like that on my own trip to europe (so far ;))
and then there was shimi, an israeli, in italy for a month. he was a woofer which is something to the effect of world-organization-of-organic-farmers-or something. he quit after the first week. he said he wanted to come to italy to work with goats, or pick olives and make olive oil. the farm he was at assigned him to shoveling donkey shit. he said "i don't need a lesson in learning how to shovel donkey shit. so i left." he was not a big drinker. we ended up playing a game of " i never" which is basically the quickest way to get drunk. he got sick and passed out, woke up hungover the next morning. he is on his way back to israel to finish his medical degree, he will be a vetrinarian. he will probably get married after he finishes his degree.
then there was the scotish lass, also in italy for a month. we spent the whole day together chatting it away. we knew all about eachother... and quite a bit about eachothers past before we went to dinner. we walked the 20 minute walk to the restaurant, struggled through the italian menu and my italian order, settled on a bottle of wine and the question came to light. "oh by the way... what are your names?"
and then i found out
laura is 22
that "one time in turkey" was last week.
that was the drunkest shimi had ever been, and will ever be, he assured us.
her name is alexis.
i used to be so good at calling peoples age. in travelling it means nothing. the one thing about travellers is we all share a spirit. of adventure, of uncertainty, of new-ness, of open-ness with a serving of vulnerability to wash it down with. you don't need to know a persons name to share an unforgettable experience (like me with the crowd of people and cheap bottle of wine we sat at the trevi fountain with), you don't need to know their age. now, when i share my life expereinces with guests and they ask my age, i laugh to myself at the novice question. they're comparing themselves to me... where they've been and where they're going. i recognize it - i did it, too, then... when i was their age.
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